L-- -’ * 

fKr ^ 




> i '*» 


t 




r»^- 


[•'. 


»• '.' 




b;" 




I*. 




, ■ . 'rr^f f >■ 


y. \ 




n • I' 


'vPiT 




y/*‘ ■■,» ■ 


•i 








•■. ::v.r^'--A 








^1 


' ; . 




'til 


rv^ 'A*'^'' 





.'''» 


Ft- 


’ • '■. ‘‘ 1 •!;« 






n. 


• '<■ /i'v: 



■ ?, 


■ ' ••''o' •-'J 


l',- 


'w* \ i ^r- .*. iv . J • I ‘JliiWa 

'i ' ■' <' ' ■ *' / ' \‘ * *»ii ^ ^5^1 r • 


rT 




iSr'*^ 


‘*. 1 ’ 


A *• ■ 


.1 f 





.< 


» * • . •« • *• ^ 


V:, 





> > 






* . ' •» » f# ••■ •' ’ .. . A .’ ^ 

^ • ■ ^ '• it » ^ ^ 




/• • I 


h. 7 • 




•• i ' I • /S • 


'} ' ^ 1 *' 

“ I ' 5 Jk* * , 






s. 


■* >.'^*'1 




' At-''..-*' ”■ ^ ^ ' ■ - , V*'/' 

f..« f ■*• '•. t >« 


t 


1^':; ;■; 




1 * • 


±L> y* 

'^<r^ 




:T<' 


> ' 


Vy...r 




' 5*1 ' |, Vu^ ' 

L ..A « .' ^ .• * # 

' it 


‘ ' •• - ' :v' ' '• .'^ i 

ATi. f • 


raic ',:■ i 

•’.J.ViWit 














. /‘V 


r. 



♦ • . ' ■ f 

% f, • V 


i. 


'V 

) 


I 


t • 


‘u 


I 

. ■ ■' 

I 

'<* t 


% 






• , 


'if . 



1' • 

1 ♦ 

fy- : 

' •.». 

'. '•' ."'^ /">' 

* ' • ' ’ < •.' 

A 

sV •■ 

Vr;;- - 

1 f “ ‘ 

- ’ ir' 

■ •- iT 

^vv; 

• 

■ -7 

'■'.r'fe' '•' 

// • ’: .» • • 



■ * n 

» « 

_Ws 


*. . ,y 

‘^ ' 

K* 

■'^ 


• » ' 1 

t 'f< ^ 


* 


►/iiT,. 


. V 




• I 


*rL’ '■' /:> ■' 




'i Ki 


k ■ ' 


' . • 


'H 

I' '^- 






^ 1 


•-. f 



• 

V 




i| 

; 

\ 


i •'_ 

my 


.1 ■■ -^‘:-,;‘ 




I *-’»« 


ii 




«» 


-- V''' 

''' 

..I ^« 




■^-'i 


'■»' . 'A', ,. 




* » 




• ■ • f • n't .. 

• fl' «', '^1 

. .,'WiA 


i..r 


'few' 


I# 








THI. »•. ^ fibV' a\*v^T is 

.. ,■ -,' -'.ie.uiae^ 




'»v„ 


v' '' f ■ 


h 


* .; 


1^; 


4' 1 . ij , 


iVN 




K<f 




kMT . 


jt 


^ 




V, 


T.\ 


t. 1 


;v.i 




'-14 






rfliKT 


T' •..-,V;W 

■ >. . •'iW. 


-'■ 

k ‘viir 


>'» ,r.«.« 


»'»• 


■ ' ,/j 


> V : V ijS**?)? 




7' ■ .'• * '* 

'. ■ '/ Vt*'' ' • 

■■: 








—: . ./i 


L±;4 






'‘‘•■•V 1 




'\t't 




i . 


P 









*, 4 ‘ 


.'V iiV'.', ^<t< 


:i-v' 


■* '| ’ V^' • 
\1^ 


■>''2 



















vV. 






•..V' 


vs 




I v 




> fc*A . ^ r 




.' V' 


7{i 




u 


ir»* 




i' 


■V r 'i’ 


A- 


. 41.1 


Y-*. 


;f'' 


W 


:it: 


f&' 


fir, 


u. 


■f L 


/ ». 


«' 1 


r.H 


'* k: 


w 




.vv 




I 


'*J 


. f I 


vV .- 


^'i 


\ . ' 


M' 


•iy 


t> 


•*. I 


m 


[■•a 


< ■.\ 


U 


^ • ',l•> ' I 






I 




V?.' 




. 


k’AT>. 








V'^fr 






»• ' 




!i^ 


irif 


"r, { It 




''}■ 


^*1 








u y. 




'A' 


:;l 




■i 






> •■ * 


/•ft 




^7 


■ v'tj 




i- 'f ■ 




t*5ȴ 




I'r, r 




;SvV: 


tvk 4*. -•< 




^rv 


W1: 


1 




»n44. 

' ^ 1 




¥ i- 


.v-a' 




•• ^ 


■i'. 


' ''1^ • f ’> ■ ' -^ • '^yii 

' ' I XX^K-’^' '^-“Fifci''' ■ F 






f' !>' 




? 7 Vi V 


Si 


iiJ V /;rf 


.I"- .‘I 


^’Vl 


*k, 


J 5 J!’ 


L*'>' 




.1 ? I 




f ' * 

% 






V* 


'n w- 






bU 


♦. V. 


I’/ 


*• f'l 


U'.>> 


«I 


IV 


w 


'I-: I. 




^l. 






\v/ 








fvj' 






, f ’ 


p. •' • *•. r 


^ .* I 


■-< 


I 




t.. 




h 


lif. 

■f. 


# ♦ 


/O ,.r: •, 

. > V . 

• • 7'^ 7. 


'■ f iif] 


'*■ 






'. T ,.' 


>». 




Wr 
^•rjk 


i>i^. 




'•. i 


[». . I 


y. 


I A' 


n 


j* 


F>/J 




^r 


'7«" 


r.- • 


:i 






*» ’ L 






r'l 




ll 


'1 V , 


ji mlfM\ 'jy 


?•. 


‘ li 


•'T 




M, 


. . I ■ 


^'V' Ti 


mi 




j 


hi 


l»y; 


■mi 






• ■> .:i 


S'! » 

I fVTVy 


i.. 


JR'l ^ . / 


.{ 










'Am 


H <1 









THE CASK 





• .■ ■ ■"••, :>/ ','^V. ■ ■' • 





' t 



t , 

r 

i 


; 

r 


-•^w r' 











/ 


THE CASK ’ 

by 

FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS 



NEW YORK 
THOMAS SELTZER 
1924 




Copyright, 1924, by 
THOMAS SELTZER, Inc. 


All rights reserved 



f 


FEINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMEHICA 


OCT -6 *24 







Dr. Adam A. C. Mathers, 

IN APPRECIATION OF HIS KINDLY 


CRITICISM AND HELP, 








CONTENTS 

PART I—LONDON 

CHAP. page 

I. A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT 3 

II. INSPECTOR BURNLEY ON THE TRACK 18 

III. THE WATCHER ON THE WALL 29 

IV. A MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW 36 

V. FELIX TELLS A STORY .43 

VI. THE ART OF DETECTION 53 

VII. THE CASK AT LAST 67 

VIII. THE OPENING OF THE CASK 78 

PART II—PARIS 

IX. M. LE CHEF DE LA SURETE 87 

X. WHO WROTE THE LETTER? 96 

XI. MM. DUPIERRE ET CIE I06 

XII. AT THE GARE ST. LAZARE II3 

XIII. THE OWNER OF THE DRESS 122 

XIV. M. BOIRAC MAKES A STATEMENT I30 

XV. THE HOUSE IN THE AVENUE DE l’ALMA I37 

XVI. INSPECTOR BURNLEY UP AGAINST IT 147 

XVII. A COUNCIL OF WAR 159 

vii 


CONTENTS 


viii 

CHAP. PAGE 

XVIII. LEFARGE HUNTS ALONE 170 

XIX. THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI 182 

XX. SOME DAMNING EVIDENCE ig 6 

PART III—LONDON AND PARIS 

XXI. A NEW POINT OF VIEW 2II 

XXII. FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY 219 

XXIII. CLIFFORD GETS TO WORK 235 

XXIV. MR. GEORGES LA TOUCHE 244 

XXV. DISAPPOINTMENT 252 

XXVI. A CLUE AT LAST 259 

XXVII. LA touche’s DILEMMA 274 

XXVIII. THE UNRAVELLING OF THE WEB 288 

XXIX. A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 298 

XXX. CONCLUSION 317 



PART I—LONDON 












CHAPTER I 


A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT 

Mr. Avery, managing director of the Insular and Continental 
Steam Navigation Company, had just arrived at his office. He 
glanced at his inward letters, ran his eye over his list of en¬ 
gagements for the day, and inspected the return of the move¬ 
ments of his Company’s steamers. Then, after spending a few 
moments in thought, he called his chief clerk, Wilcox. 

^T see the Bullfinch is in this morning from Rouen,” he said. 
‘T take it she’ll have that consignment of wines for Norton and 
Banks?” 

“She has,” replied the chief clerk, “I’ve just rung up the dock 
office to inquire.” 

“I think we ought to have it specially checked from here. 
You remember all the trouble they gave us about the last lot. 
Will you send some reliable man down? Whom can you 
spare?” 

“Broughton could go. He has done it before.” 

“Well, see to it, will you, and then send in Miss Johnson, and 
I shall go through the mail.” 

The office was the headquarters of the Insular and Continen¬ 
tal Steam Navigation Company, colloquially known as the I. 
and C., and occupied the second floor of a large block of build¬ 
ings at the western end of Fenchurch Street. The Company was 
an important concern, and owned a fleet of some thirty steamers 
ranging from 300 to 1000 tons burden, which traded between 
London and the smaller Continental ports. Low freights was their 
specialty, but they did not drive their boats, and no attempt was 
made to compete with the more expensive routes in the matter of 
speed. Under these circumstances they did a large trade in all 
kinds of goods other than perishables. 

Mr. Wilcox picked up some papers and stepped over to the desk 
at which Tom Broughton was working. 

3 


4 


THE CASK 


“Broughton,’’ he said, “Mr. Avery wants you to go down at 
once to the docks and check a consignment of wines for Norton 
and Banks. It came in last night from Rouen in the Bullfinch, 
These people gave us a lot of trouble about their last lot, dis¬ 
puting our figures, so you will have to be very careful. Here are 
the invoices, and don’t take the men’s figures but see each cask 
yourself.” 

“Right, sir,” replied Broughton, a young fellow of three-and- 
twenty, with a frank, boyish face and an alert manner. Nothing 
loath to exchange the monotony of the office for the life and 
bustle of the quays, he put away his books, stowed the invoices 
carefully in his pocket, took his hat and went quickly down the 
stairs and out into Fenchurch Street. 

It was a brilliant morning in early April. After a spell of cold, 
showery weather, there was at last a foretaste of summer in the 
air, and the contrast made it seem good to be alive. The sun 
shone with that clear freshness seen only after rain. Broughton’s 
spirits rose as he hurried through the busy streets, and watched 
the ceaseless flow of traffic pouring along the arteries leading to 
the shipping. 

His goal was St. Katherine’s Docks, where the Bullfinch was 
berthed, and, passing across Tower Hill and round two sides of the 
grim old fortress, he pushed on till he reached the basin in which 
the steamer was lying. She was a long and rather low vessel of 
some 800 tons burden, with engines amidships, and a single black 
funnel ornamented with the two green bands that marked the 
Company’s boats. Recently out from her annual overhaul, she 
looked trim and clean in her new coat of black paint. Unload¬ 
ing was in progress, and Broughton hurried on board, anxious to 
be present before any of the consignment of wine was set ashore. 

He was just in time, for the hatches of the lower forehold, in 
which the casks were stowed, had been cleared and were being 
lifted off as he arrived. As he stood on the bridge deck waiting 
for the work to be completed he looked around. 

Several steamers were lying in the basin. Immediately behind, 
with her high bluff bows showing over the Bullfinch's counter, 
was the Thrush, his Company’s largest vessel, due to sail that . 
afternoon for Corunna and Vigo. In the berth in front lay a | 
Clyde Shipping Company’s boat bound for Belfast and Glasgow! 


A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT 


5 


and also due out that afternoon, the smoke from her black funnel 
circling lazily up into the clear sky. Opposite was the Arcturus, 
belonging to the I. and C.’s rivals, Messrs. Babcock and Millman, 
and commanded by ^‘Black Mac,’^ so called to distinguish him 
from the Captain M’Tavish of differently coloured hair, “Red 
Mac,” who was master of the same Company’s Sirius. To 
Broughton these boats represented links with the mysterious, far- 
off world of romance, and he never saw one put to sea without 
longing to go with her to Copenhagen, Bordeaux, Lisbon, Spezzia, 
or to whatever other delightful-sounding place she was bound. 

The fore-hatch being open, Broughton climbed down into the 
hold armed with his notebook, and the unloading of the casks 
began. They were swung out in lots of four fastened together by 
rope slings. As each lot was dealt with, the clerk noted the con¬ 
tents in his book, from which he would afterwards check the 
invoices. 

The work progressed rapidly, the men straining and pushing 
to get the heavy barrels in place for the slings. Gradually the 
space under and around the hatch was cleared, the casks then 
having to be rolled forward from the farther parts of the hold. 

A quartet of casks had just been hoisted and Broughton was 
turning to examine the net lot when he heard a sudden shout of 
“Look out, there! Look out!” and felt himself seized roughly 
and pulled backwards. He swung round and was in time to see 
the four casks turning over out of the sling arid falling heavily to 
the floor of the hold. Fortunately they had only been lifted some 
four or five feet, but they were heavy things and came down 
solidly. The two under were damaged slightly and the wine be¬ 
gan to ooze out between the staves. The others had had their 
fall broken and neither seemed the worse. The men had all 
jumped clear and no one was hurt. 

“Upend those casks, boys,” called the foreman, when the 
damage had been briefly examined, “and let’s save the wine.” 

The leaking casks were turned damaged end up and lifted aside 
for temporary repairs. The third barrel was found to be unin¬ 
jured, but when they came to the fourth it was seen that it had 
not entirely escaped. 

This fourth cask was different in appearance from the rest, and 
Broughton had noted it as not belonging to Messrs. Norton and 


6 


THE CASK 


Banks’ consignment. It was more strongly made and better 
finished, and was stained a light oak colour and varnished. Evi¬ 
dently, also, it did not contain wine, for what had called their 
attention to its injury was a little heap of sawdust which had 
escaped from a crack at the end of one of the staves. 

“Strange looking cask this. Did you ever see one like it be¬ 
fore?” said Broughton to the I. and C. foreman who had pulled 
him back, a man named Harkness. He was a tall, strongly built 
man with prominent cheekbones, a square chin and a sandy 
moustache. Broughton had known him for some time and had a 
high opinion of his intelligence and ability. 

“Never saw nothin’ like it,” returned Harkness. “I tell you, 
sir, that there cask ’as been made to stand some knocking about.” 

“Looks like it. Let’s get it rolled back out of the way and 
turned up, so as to see the damage.” 

Harkness seized the cask and with some difficulty rolled it 
close to the ship’s side out of the way of the unloading, but when 
he tried to upend it he found it too heavy to lift. 

“There’s something more than sawdust in there,” he said. “It’s 
the ’eaviest cask ever I struck. I guess it was its weight shifted, 
the other casks in the sling and spilled the lot.” 

He called over another man and they turned the cask damaged 
end up. Broughton stepped over to the charge hand and asked 
him to check the tally for a few seconds while he examined the 
injury. 

As he was returning across the half dozen yards to join the 
foreman, his eye fell on the little heap of sawdust that had fallen 
out of the crack, and the glitter of some bright object showing 
through it caught his attention. He stooped and picked it up. 
His amazement as he looked at it may be imagined, for it was a 
sovereign! 

He glanced quickly round. Only Harkness of all the men 
present had seen it. 

“Turn the ’eap over, sir,” said the foreman, evidently as sur¬ 
prised as the younger man, “see if there are any more.” 

Broughton sifted the sawdust through his fingers, and his 
astonishment was not lessened when he discovered two others hid¬ 
den in the little pile. 

He gazed at the three gold coins lying in his palm. As he 


A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT 


7 


did £0 Harkness gave a smothered exclamation and, stooping 
rapidly, picked something out from between two of the boards 
of the hold’s bottom. 

“Another, by gum!” cried the foreman in low tones, “and an¬ 
other!” He bent down again and lifted a second object from 
behind where the cask was standing. “Blest if it ain’t a bloom¬ 
ing gold mine we’ve struck.” 

Broughton put the five sovereigns in his pocket, as he and 
Harkness unostentatiously scrutinised the deck. They searched 
carefully, but found no other coins. 

“Did you drop them when I dragged you back?” asked 
Harkness. 

“I? No, I wish I had, but I had no gold about me.” 

“Some of the other chaps must ’ave then. Maybe Peters or 
Wilson. Both jumped just at this place.” 

“Well, don’t say anything for a moment. I believe they came 
out of the cask.” 

“Out o’ the cask? Why, sir, ’oo would send sovereigns in a 
cask?” 

“No one, I should have said; but how would they get among 
the sawdust if they didn’t come out through the crack with it?” 

“That’s so,” said Harkness thoughtfully, continuing, “I tell 
you, Mr. Broughton, you say the word and I’ll open that crack 
a bit more and we’ll ’ave a look into the cask.” 

The clerk recognised that this would be irregular, but his 
curiosity was keenly aroused and he hesitated. 

“I’ll do it without leaving any mark that won’t be put down 
to the fall,” continued the tempter, and Broughton fell. 

“I think we should know,” he replied. “This gold may have 
been stolen and inquiries should be made.” 

The foreman smiled and disappeared, returning with a ham¬ 
mer and cold chisel. The broken piece at the end of the stave 
was entirely separated from the remainder by the crack, but was 
held in position by one of the iron rings. This piece Harkness 
with some difficulty drove upwards, thus widening the crack. As 
he did so, a little shower of sawdust fell out and the astonishment 
of the two men was not lessened when with it came a number of 
sovereigns, which went rolling here and there over the planks. 

It happened that at the same moment the attention of the 


8 


THE CASK 


other men was concentrated on a quartet of casks which was 
being slung up through the hatches, the nervousness caused by 
the slip not having yet subsided. None of them therefore saw 
what had taken place, and Broughton and Harkness had picked 
up the coins before any of them turned round. Six sovereigns 
had come out, and the clerk added them to the five he already 
had, while he and his c®mpanion unostentatiously searched for 
others. Not finding any, they turned back to the cask deeply 
mystified. 

“Open that crack a bit more,” said Broughton. “What do you 
think about it?” 

“Blest if I know what to think,” replied the foreman. “We’re 
on to something mighty queer anyway. ’Old my cap under the 
crack till I prize out that there bit of wood altogether.” 

With some difficulty the loose piece of the stave was ham¬ 
mered up, leaving a hole in the side of the barrel some six 
inches deep by nearly four wide. Half a capful of sawdust fell 
out, and the clerk added to it by clearing the broken edge of 
the wood. Then he placed the cap on the top of the cask and 
they eagerly felt through the sawdust. 

“By Jehoshaphat! ” whispered Harkness excitedly, “it’s just full 
of gold!” 

It seemed to be so, indeed, for in it were no fewer than seven 
sovereigns. 

“That’s eighteen in all,” said Broughton, in an awed tone, as 
he slipped them into his pocket. “If the whole cask’s full of 
them it must be worth thousands and thousands of pounds.” 

They stood gazing at the prosaic looking barrel, outwardly 
remarkable only in its strong design and good finish, marvelling 
if beneath that commonplace exterior there was indeed hidden 
what to them seemed a fortune. Then Harkness crouched down 
and looked into the cask through the hole he had made. Hardly 
had he done so when he sprang back with a sudden oath. 

“Look in there, Mr. Broughton!”" he cried in a suppressed 
tone. “Look in there!” 

Broughton stooped in turn and peered in. Then he also re¬ 
coiled, for there, sticking up out of the sawdust, were the fingers 
of a hand. 

“This is terrible,” he whispered, convinced at last they were 


A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT 9 

in the presence of tragedy, and then he could have kicked him¬ 
self for being such a fool. 

^‘Why, it’s only a statue,” he cried. 

^‘Statue?” replied Harkness sharply. ‘‘Statue? That ain’t no 
statue. That’s part of a dead body, that is. And don’t you 
make no mistake.” 

“It’s too dark to see properly. Get a light, will you, till we 
make sure.” 

When the foreman had procured a hand-lamp Broughton 
looked in again and speedily saw that his first impression was 
correct. The fingers were undoubtedly those of a woman’s hand, 
small, pointed, delicate, and bearing rings which glinted in the 
light. 

“Clear away some more of the sawdust, Harkness,” said the 
young man as he stood up again. “We must find out all we can 
now.” 

He held the cap as before, and the foreman carefully picked 
out with the cold chisel the sawdust surrounding the fingers. As 
its level lowered, the remainder of the hand and the wrist gradu¬ 
ally became revealed. The sight of the whole only accentuated 
the first impression of dainty beauty and elegance. 

Broughton emptied the cap on to the top of the cask. Three 
more sovereigns were found hidden in it, and these he pocketed 
with the others. Then he turned to re-examine the cask. 

It was rather larger than the wine barrels, being some three 
feet six high by nearly two feet six in diameter. As already men¬ 
tioned, it was of unusually strong construction, the sides, as 
shown by the broken stave, being quite two inches thick. Owing 
possibly to the difficulty of bending such heavy stuff, it was more 
cylindrical than barrel shaped, the result being that the ends 
were unusually large, and this no doubt partly accounted for 
Harkness’s difficulty in upending it. In place of the usual thin 
metal bands, heavy iron rings clamped it together. 

On one side was a card label, tacked round the edges and ad¬ 
dressed in a foreign handwriting: “M. Leon Felix, 141 West 
Jubb Street, Tottenham Court Road, London, W., via Rouen 
and long sea,” with the words “Statuary only” printed with a 
rubber stamp. The label bore also the sender’s name: “Dupierre 
et Cie., Fabricants de la Sculpture Monumentale, Rue Provence. 


10 


THE CASK 


Rue de la Convention, Crenelle, Paris.” Stencilled in black let¬ 
ters on the woodwork was “Return to” in French, English, and 
German, and the name of the same firm. Broughton examined 
the label with care, in the half-unconscious hope of discovering 
something from the handwriting. In this he was disappointed, 
but, as he held the hand-lamp close, he saw something else which 
interested him. 

The label was divided into two parts, an ornamental border 
containing the sender’s advertisement and a central portion for 
the address. These two were separated by a thick black line. 
What had caught Broughton’s eye was an unevenness along this 
line, and closer examination showed that the central portion had 
been cut out, and a piece of paper pasted on the back of the 
card to cover the hole. Felix’s address was therefore written on 
this paper, and not on the original label. The alteration had 
been neatly done, and was almost unnoticeable. Broughton was' 
puzzled at first, then it occurred to him that the firm must have 
run out of labels and made an old one do duty a second time. 

“A cask containing money and a human hand—^probably a 
body,” he mused. “It’s a queer business and something has got 
to be done about it.” He stood looking at the cask while he 
thought out his course of action. 

That a serious crime had been committed he felt sure, and 
that it was his duty to report his discovery immediately he was 
no less certain. But there was the question of the consignment of 
wines. He had been sent specially to the docks to check it, and 
he wondered if he would be right to leave the work undone. He 
thought so. The matter was serious enough to justify him. And 
it was not as if the wine would not be checked. The ordinary 
tallyman was there, and Broughton knew him to be careful and 
accurate. Besides, he could probably get a clerk from the dock 
office to help. His mind was made up. He would go straight to 
Fenchurch Street and report to Mr. Avery, the managing director. 

“Harkness,” he said, “I’m going up to the head office to report 
this. You’d better close up that hole as best you can and then 
stay here and watch the cask. Don’t let it out of your sight on 
any pretext until you get instructions from Mr. Avery.” ^ 

“Right, Mr. Broughton,” replied the foreman, “I think you’re | 
doing the proper thing.” I 


A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT 


11 


They replaced as much of the sawdust as they could, and 
Harkness fitted the broken piece of stave into the space and 
drove it home, nailing it fast. 

^‘Well, I’m off,” said Broughton, but as he turned to go a 
gentleman stepped down into the hold and spoke to him. He 
was a man of medium height, foreign looking, with a dark com¬ 
plexion and a black pointed beard, and dressed in a well-cut suit 
of blue clothes, with white spats and a Homburg hat. He bowed 
and smiled. 

“Pardon me, but you are, I presume, an I. and C. official?” he 
asked, speaking perfect English, but with a foreign accent. 

“I am a clerk in the head office, sir,” replied Broughton. 

“Ah, quite so. Perhaps then you can oblige me with some 
information? I am expecting from Paris by this boat a cask 
containing a group of statuary from Messrs. Dupierre of that 
city. Can you tell me if it has arrived? This is my name.” He 
handed Broughton a card on which was printed: “M. Leon 
Felix, 141 West Jubb Street, Tottenham Court Road, W.” 

Though the clerk saw at a glance the name was the same as 
that on the label on the cask, he pretended to read it with care 
while considering his reply. This man clearly was the consignee, 
and if he were told the cask was there he would doubtless claim 
immediate possession. Broughton could think of no excuse for 
refusing him, but he was determined all the same not to let it 
go. He had just decided to reply that it had not yet come to 
light, but that they would keep a look out for it, when another 
point struck him. 

The damaged cask had been moved to the side of the hold 
next the dock, and it occurred to the clerk that -any one stand¬ 
ing on the wharf beside the hatch could see it. For ail he knew 
to the contrary, this man Felix might have watched their whole 
proceedings, including the making of the hole in the cask and the 
taking out of the sovereigns. If he had recognised his property, 
as was possible, a couple of steps from where he was standing 
would enable him to put his finger on the label and so convict 
Broughton of a falsehood. The clerk decided that in this case 
honesty would be the best policy. 

“Yes, sir,” he answered, “your cask has arrived. By a curious 
coincidence it is this one beside us. We had just separated it 


12 


THE CASK 


out from the wine-barrels owing to its being differently consigned.” 

Mr. Felix looked at the young man suspiciously, but he only 
said: ‘^Thank you. I am a collector of objets (Tart, and am 
anxious to see the statue. I have a cart here and I presume I 
can get it away at once?” 

This was what Broughton had expected, but he thought he 
saw his way. 

“Well, sir,” he responded civilly, “that is outside my job and I 
fear I cannot help you. But I am sure you can get it now if 
you will come over to the office on the quay and go through the 
usual formalities. I am going there now and will be pleased to 
show you the way.” 

“Oh, thank you. Certainly,” agreed the stranger. 

As they walked off, a doubt arose in Broughton^s mind that 
Harkness might misunderstand his replies to Felix, and if the 
latter returned with a plausible story might let the cask go. He 
therefore called out:— 

“You understand then, Harkness, you are to do nothing till 
you hear from Mr. Avery,” to which the foreman replied by a 
wave of the hand. 

The problem the young clerk had to solve was threefold. First, 
he had to go to Fenchurch Street to report the matter to his 
managing director. Next, he must ensure that the cask was kept 
in the Company’s possession until that gentleman had decided 
his course of action, and lastly, he wished to accomplish both of 
these things without raising the suspicions either of Felix or the 
clerks in the quay office. It was not an easy matter, and at 
first Broughton was somewhat at a loss. But as they entered the 
office a plan occurred to him which he at once decided on. He 
turned to his companion. 

“If you will wait here a moment, sir,” he said, “I’ll find the 
clerk who deals with your business and send him to you.” 

“I thank you.” 

He passed through the door in the screen dividing the outer 
and inner offices and, crossing to the manager’s room, spoke in a | 
low tone to that official. ; | 

“Mr. Huston, there’s a man outside named Felix for whom al 
cask has come from Paris on the Bullfinch and he wants posses-1 
sion now. The cask is there, but Mr. Avery suspects there is some-« 


A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT 


13 


thing not quite right about it, and he sent me to tell you to please 
delay delivery until you hear further from him. He said to 
make any excuse, but under no circumstances to give the thing 
up. He will ring you up in an hour or so when he has made 
some further inquiries.’’ 

Mr. Huston looked queerly at the young man, but he only 
said, “That will be all right,” and the latter took him out and 
introduced him to Mr. Felix. 

Broughton delayed a few moments in the inner office to ar¬ 
range with one of the clerks to take up his work on the Bullfinch 
during his absence. As he passed out by the counter at which the 
manager and Mr. Felix were talking, he heard the latter say in 
an angry tone:— 

“Very well, I will go now and see your Mr. Avery, and I feel 
sure he will make it up to me for this obstruction and annoyance:” 

“It’s up to me to be there first,” thought Broughton, as he 
hurried out of the dock gates in search of a taxi. None was in 
sight and he stopped and considered the situation. If Felix had 
a car waiting he would get to Fenchurch Street while he, Brough¬ 
ton, was looking round. Something else must be done. 

Stepping into the Little Tower Hill Post Office, he rang up the 
head office, getting through to Mr. Avery’s private room. In a 
few words he explained that he had accidentally come on evi¬ 
dence which pointed to the commission of a serious crime, that 
a man named Felix appeared to know something about it, and 
that this man was about to call on Mr. Avery, continuing,— 

“Now, sir, if you’ll let me make a suggestion, it is that you 
don’t see this Mr. Felix immediately he calls, but that you let 
me into your private office by the landing door, so that I don’t 
need to pass through the outer office. Then you can hear my 
story in detail and decide what to do.” 

“It all sounds rather vague and mysterious,” replied the dis¬ 
tant voice, “can you not tell me what you found?” 

“Not from here, sir, if you please. If you’ll trust me this 
time, I think you’ll be satisfied that I am right when you hear 
my story.” 

“All right. Come along.” 

Broughton left the post office and, now when it no longer mat¬ 
tered, found an empty taxi. Jumping in, he drove to Fenchurch 


14 THE CASK 

Street and, passing up the staircase, knocked at his chief’s 
private door. 

“Well, Broughton,” said Mr. Avery, “sit down there.” Going 
to the door leading to the outer office he spoke to Wilcox. 

“I’ve just had a telephone call and I want to send some other 
messages. I’ll be engaged for half an hour.” Then he closed 
the door and slipped the bolt. 

“You see I have done as you asked and I shall now hear your 
story. I trust you haven’t put me to all this inconvenience with¬ 
out a good cause.” 

“I think not, sir, and I thank you for the way you have met me. 
What happened was this,” and Broughton related in detail his 
visit to the docks, the mishap to the casks, the discovery of the 
sovereigns and the woman’s hand, the coming of Mr. Felix and 
the interview in the quay office, ending up by placing the 
twenty-one sovereigns in a little pile on the chief’s desk. 

When he ceased speaking there was silence for several minutes, 
while Mr. Avery thought over what he had heard. The tale was 
a strange one, but both from his knowledge of Broughton’s char¬ 
acter as well as from the young man’s manner he implicitly be¬ 
lieved every word he had heard. He considered the firm’s posi¬ 
tion in the matter. In one way it did not concern them if a 
sealed casket, delivered to them for conveyance, contained mar¬ 
ble, gold, or road metal, so long as the freight was paid. Their 
contract was to carry what was handed over to them from one 
point to another and give it up in the condition they received it. 
If any one chose to send sovereigns under the guise of statuary, 
any objection that might be raised concerned the Customs De¬ 
partment, not them. 

On the other hand, if evidence pointing to a serious crime 
came to the firm’s notice, it would be the duty of the firm to 
acquaint the police. The woman’s hand in the cask might or 
might not indicate a murder, but the suspicion was too strong to 
justify them in hiding the matter. He came to a decision. 

“Broughton,” he said, “I think you have acted very wisely all 
through. We will go now to Scotland Yard, and you may repeat * 
your tale to the authorities. After that I think we will be clear' 
of it. Will you go out the way you came in, get a taxi, and w^ait 
for me in Fenchurch Street at the end of Mark Lane.” 


A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT 15 

Mr. Avery locked the private door after the young man, put 
on his coat and hat, and went into the outer office. 

“I am going out for a couple of hours, Wilcox,” he said. 

The head clerk approached with a letter in his hand. 

“Very good, sir. A gentleman named Mr. Felix called about 
11.30 to see you. When I said you were engaged, he would not 
wait, but asked for a sheet of paper and an envelope to write 
you a note. This is it.” 

The managing director took the note and turned back into his 
private office to read it. He was puzzled. He had said at 11.15 
he would be engaged for half an hour. Therefore, Mr. Felix 
would only have had fifteen minutes to wait. As he opened the 
envelope he wondered why that gentleman could not have spared 
this moderate time, after coming all the way from the docks to 
see him. And then he was puzzled again, for the envelope was 
empty! 

He stood in thought. Had something occurred to startle Mr. 
Felix when writing his note, so that in his agitation he omitted 
to enclose it? Or had he simply made a mistake? Or was there 
some deep-laid plot? Well, he would see what Scotland Yard 
thought. 

He put the envelope away in his pocket-book and, going down 
to the street, joined Broughton in the taxi. They rattled along the 
crowded thoroughfares while Mr. Avery told the clerk about the 
envelope. 

‘T say, sir,” said the latter, “but that’s a strange business. 
When I saw him, Mr. Felix was not at all agitated. He seemed 
to me a very cool, clear-headed man.” 

It happened that about a year previously the shipping com¬ 
pany had been the victim of a series of cleverly planned rob¬ 
beries, and, in following up the matter, Mr. Avery had become 
rather well acquainted with two or three of the Yard Inspectors. 
One of these in particular he had found a shrewd and capable 
officer, as well as a kindly and pleasant man to work with. On 
arrival at the Yard he therefore asked for this man, and was 
pleased to find he was not engaged. 

“Good morning, Mr. Avery,” said the Inspector, as they en¬ 
tered his office, “what good wind blows you our way to-day?” 

“Good morning. Inspector. This is Mr. Broughton, one of my 


16 THE CASK 

clerks, and he has got a rather singular story that I think will 
interest you to hear.^’ 

Inspector Burnley shook hands, closed the door, and drew up 
a couple of chairs. 

‘‘Sit down, gentlemen,’’ he said. ‘T am always interested in a 
good story.” 

“Now, Broughton, repeat your adventures over again to In¬ 
spector Burnley.” 

Broughton started off and, for the second time, told of his 
visit to the docks, the damage to the heavily built cask, the find¬ 
ing of the sovereigns and the woman’s hand, and the interview 
with Mr. Felix. The Inspector listened gravely and took a note 
or two, but did not speak till the clerk had finished, when he 
said:— 

“Let me congratulate you, Mr. Broughton, on your very clear 
statement.” 

“To which I might add a word,” said Mr. Avery, and he told 
of the visit of Mr. Felix to the office and handed over the 
envelope he had left. 

“That envelope was written at 11.30,” said the Inspector, “and 
it is now nearly 12.30. I am afraid this is a serious matter, Mr. 
Avery. Can you come to the docks at once?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Well, don’t let us lose any time.” He threw a London direc¬ 
tory down before Broughton. “Just look up this Felix, will you, 
while I make some arrangements.” 

Broughton looked for West Jubb Street, but there was no 
such near Tottenham Court Road. 

“I thought as much,” said Inspector Burnley, who had been 
telephoning. “Let us proceed.” 

As they reached the courtyard a taxi drew up, containing two 
plain clothes men as well as the driver. Burnley threw open the 
door, they all got in, and the vehicle slid quickly out into the 
street. 

Burnley turned to Broughton. “Describe the man Felix as 
minutely as you can.” 

“He was a man of about middle height, rather slightly and 
elegantly built. He was foreign-looking, French, I should say, 
or even Spanish, with dark eyes and complexion, and black hair. 


A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT 


17 


He wore a short, pointed beard. He was dressed in blue clothes 
of good quality, with a dark-green or brown Homburg hat, and 
black shoes with light spats. I did not observe his collar and 
tie specially, but he gave me the impression of being well dressed 
in such matters of detail. He wore a ring with some kind of 
stone on the little finger of his left hand.’^ 

The two plain clothes men had listened attentively to the de¬ 
scription, and they and the Inspector conversed in low tones 
for a few moments, when silence fell on the party. 

They stopped opposite the Bullfinches berth and Broughton led 
the way down. 

“There she is,” he pointed, “if we go to that gangway we can 
get down direct to the forehold.” 

The two plain-clothes men had also alighted and the five 
walked in the direction indicated. They crossed the gangway 
and, approaching the hatchway, looked down into the hold. 

“There’s where it is,” began Broughton, pointing down, and 
then suddenly stopped. 

The others stepped forward and looked down. The hold was 
empty. Harkness and the cask were gonel 


CHAPTER II 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY ON THE TRACK 

The immediate suggestion was, of course, that Harkness had had 
the cask moved to some other place for safety, and this they set 
themselves to find out. 

^^Get hold of the gang that were unloading this hold,” said the 
Inspector. 

Broughton darted off and brought up a stevedore’s foreman, 
from whom they learned that the forehold had been emptied some 
ten minutes earlier, the men having waited to complete it and then 
gone for dinner. 

^‘Where do they get their dinner? Can we get hold of them 
now?” asked Mr. Avery. 

“Some of them, sir, I think. Most of them go out into the 
city, but some use the night watchman’s room where there is a 
fire.” 

“Let’s go and see,” said the Inspector, and headed by the fore¬ 
man they walked some hundred yards along the quay to a small 
brick building set apart from the warehouses, inside and in front 
of which sat a number of men, some eating from steaming cans, 
others smoking short pipes. 

“Any o’ you boys on the Bullfinches lower forehold?” asked the 
foreman, “if so, boss wants you ’alf a sec.” 

Three of the men got up slowly and came forward. 

“We want to know, men,” said the managing director, “if you 
can tell us anything about Harkness and a damaged cask. He 
was to wait with it till we got down.” 

“Well, he’s gone with it,” said one of the men, “lessn’ ’alf an 
hour ago.” 

“Gone with it?” 

“Yes. Some toff in blue clothes an’ a black beard came up an’ 
give ’im a paper, an’ when ’e’d read it ’e calls out an’ sez, sez ’e, 
‘ ’Elp me swing out this ’ere cask,’ ’e says. We ’elps ’im, an’ ’e 

18 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY ON THE TRACK 


19 


puts it on a ’orse dray— a. four-wheeler. An’ then they all goes 
off, ’im an’ the cove in the blue togs walkin’ together after the 
dray.” 

“Any name on the dray?” asked Mr. Avery. 

“There was,” replied the spokesman, “but I’m blessed if I 
knows what it was. ’Ere Bill, you was talking about that there 
name. Where was it?” 

Another man spoke. 

“It was Tottenham Court Road, it was. But I didn’t know the 
street, and I thought that a strange thing, for I’ve lived off the 
Tottenham Court Road all my life.” 

“Was it East John Street?” asked Inspector Burnley. 

“Ay, it was something like that. East or West. West, I think. 
An’ it was something like John. Not John, but something like it.” 

“What colour was the dray?” 

“Blue, very fresh and clean.” 

“Any one notice the colour of the horse?” 

But this was beyond them. The horse was out of their line. 
Its colour had not been observed. 

“Well,” said Mr. Avery, as the Inspector signed that was all he 
wanted, “we are much obliged to you. Here’s something for you.” 

Inspector Burnley beckoned to Broughton. 

“You might describe this man Harkness.” 

“He was a tall chap with a sandy moustache, very high cheek¬ 
bones, and a big jaw. He was dressed in brown dungarees and 
a cloth cap.” 

“You hear that,” said the Inspector, turning to the plain-clothes 
men. “They have half an hour’s start. Try to get on their 
track. Try north and east first, as it is unlikely they’d go west 
for fear of meeting us. Report to headquarters.” 

The men hurried away. 

“Now, a telephone,” continued the Inspector. “Perhaps you’d 
let me use your quay office one.” 

They walked to the office, and Mr. Avery arranged for him to 
get the private instrument in the manager’s room. He rejoined 
the others in a few minutes. 

“Well,” he said, “that’s all we can do in the meantime. A 
description of the men and cart will be wired round to all the 


20 


THE CASK 


stations immediately, and every constable in London will be on 
the look-out for them before very much longer.” 

“Very good that,” said the managing director. 

The Inspector looked surprised. 

“Oh no,” he said, “that’s the merest routine. But now I’m here 
I would like to make some other inquiries. Perhaps you would 
tell your people that I’m acting with your approval, as it might 
make them give their information more willingly.” 

Mr. Avery called over Huston, the manager. 

“Huston, this is Inspector Burnley of Scotland Yard. He is 
making some inquiries about that cask you already heard of. I’ll 
be glad if you see that he is given every facility.” He turned to 
the Inspector. “I suppose there’s nothing further I can do to help 
you? I should be glad to get back to the City again, if possible.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Avery, there’s nothing more. I’ll cruise 
round here a bit. I’ll let you know how things develop.” 

“Right. Good-bye then, in the meantime.” 

The Inspector, left to his own devices, called Broughton and, 
going on board the Bullfinch, had the clerk’s story repeated in 
great detail, the actual place where each incident happened being 
pointed out. He made a search for any object that might have 
been dropped, but without success, visited the wharf and other 
points from which the work at the cask might have been over¬ 
looked, and generally made himself thoroughly familiar with the 
circumstances. By the time this was done the other men who had 
been unloading the forehold had returned from dinner, and he 
interviewed them, questioning each individually. No additional 
information was received. 

The Inspector then returned to the quay office. 

“I want you,” he asked Mr. Huston, “to be so good as to show 
me all the papers you have referring to that cask, waybills, for¬ 
ward notes, everything.” 

Mr. Huston disappeared, returning in a few seconds with some 
papers which he handed to Burnley. The latter examined them 
and then said:— 

“These seem to show that the cask was handed over to the 
French State Railway at their Rue Cardinet Goods Station, near 
the Gare St. Lazare, in Paris, by MM. Dupierre et Cie., carriage 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY ON THE TRACK 21 

being paid forward. They ran it by rail to Rouen, where it was 
loaded on to your Bullfinch^ 

“That is so.” 

“I suppose you cannot say whether the Paris collection was 
made by a railway vehicle?” 

“No, but I should think not, as otherwise the cartage charges 
would probably show.” 

“I think I am right in saying that these papers are complete 
and correct in every detail?” 

“Oh yes, they are perfectly in order.” 

“How do you account for the cask being passed through by the 
Customs officials without examination?” 

“There was nothing suspicious about it. It bore the label of 
a well-known and reputable firm, and was invoiced as well as 
stencilled, “Statuary only.” It was a receptacle obviously suit¬ 
able for transporting such goods, and its weight was also in 
accordance. Unless in the event of some suspicious circumstance, 
cases of this kind are seldom opened.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Huston, tiat is all I want at present. Now, 
can I see the captain of the Bullfinch?^* 

“Certainly. Come over and I’ll introduce you.” 

Captain M’Nabb was a big, rawboned Ulsterman, with a 
hooked nose and sandy hair. He was engaged in writing up some 
notes in his cabin. 

“Come in, sir, come in,” he said, as Huston made the Inspector 
known. “What can I do for you?” 

Burnley explained his business. He had only a couple of ques¬ 
tions to ask. 

“How is the trans-shipment done from the railway to your boat 
at Rouen?” 

“The wagons come down on the wharf right alongside. The 
Rouen stevedores load them, either with the harbour travelling 
crane or our own winches.” 

“Would it be at all possible for a barrel to be tampered with 
after it was once aboard?” 

“How do you mean tampered with? A barrel of wine might be 
tapped, but that’s all could be done.” 

“Could a barrel be changed, or completely emptied and filled 
with something else?” 


22 


THE CASK 


“It could not. The thing’s altogether impossible.” 

“I’m much obliged to you, captain. Good-day.” 

Inspector Burnley was nothing if not thorough. He questioned 
in turn the winch drivers, the engineers, even the cook, and before 
six o’clock had interviewed every man that had sailed on the Bull¬ 
finch from Rouen. The results were unfortunately entirely nega¬ 
tive. No information about the cask was forthcoming. No 
question had been raised about it. Nothing had happened to call 
attention to it, or that was in any way out of the common. 

Puzzled but not disheartened. Inspector Burnley drove back to 
Scotland Yard, his mind full of the mysterious happenings, and 
his pocket-book stored with all kinds of facts about the Bullfinch, 
her cargo, and crew. 

Two messages were waiting for him. The first was from Rals¬ 
ton, the plain-clothes man that he had sent from the docks in a 
northerly direction. It read:— 

“Traced parties as far as north end of Leman Street. Trail lost 
there.” 

The second was from a police station in Upper Head Street:— 

“Parties seen turning from Great Eastern Street into Curtain 
Road about 1.20 p. m.” 

“H’m, going north-west, are they?” mused the Inspector taking 
down a large scale map of the district. “Let’s see. Here’s Leman 
Street. That is, say, due north from St. Katherine’s Docks, and 
half a mile or more away. Now, what’s the other one?”—^he 
referred to the wire—“Curtain Road should be somewhere here. 
Yes, here it is. Just a continuation of the same line, only more 
west, say, a mile and a half from the docks. So they’re going 
straight, are they, and using the main streets. H’m. H’m. Now 
I wonder where they’re heading to. Let’s see.” 

The Inspector pondered. “Ah, well,” he murmured at last, “we 
must wait till to-morrow,” and, sending instructions recalling his 
two plain-clothes assistants, he went home. 

But his day’s work was not done. Hardly had he finished his 
meal and lit one of the strong, black cigars he favoured, when he 
was summoned back to Scotland Yard. There waiting for him 
was Broughton, and with him the tall, heavy-jawed foreman 
Harkness. ^ 

The Inspector pulled forward two chairs. 


23 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY ON THE TRACK 

“Sit down, gentlemen,” he said, when the clerk had introduced 
his companion, “and let me hear your story.” 

“You’ll be surprised to see me so soon again, Mr. Burnley,” 
answered Broughton, “but, after leaving you, I went back to the 
office to see if there were any instructions for me, and found our 
friend here had just turned up. He was asking for the chief, 
Mr. Avery, but he had gone home. Then he told me his ad¬ 
ventures, and as I felt sure Mr. Avery would have sent him to 
you, I thought my best plan was to bring him along without 
delay.” 

“And right you were, Mr. Broughton. Now, Mr. Harkness, I 
would be obliged if you would tell me what happened to you.” 

The foreman settled himself comfortably in his chair. 

“Well, sir,” he began, “I think you’re listening to the biggest 
fool between this and St. Paul’s. I ’ave been done this afternoon, 
fairly diddled, an’ not once only, but two separate times. 
’Owever, I’d better tell you from the beginning. 

“When Mr. Broughton an’ Felix left, I stayed an’ kept an eye 
on the cask. I got some bits of ’oop iron by way o’ mending it, 
so that none o’ the boys would wonder why I was ‘anging around. 
I waited the best part of an hour, an’ then Felix came back. 

“ ‘Mr. ’Arkness, I believe?’ ’e said. 

“ ‘That’s my name, sir,’ I answered. 

“ ‘I ’ave a letter for you from Mr. Avery. P’raps you would 
kindly read it now,’ ’e said. 

“It was a note from the ’ead office, signed by Mr. Avery, an’ it 
said that ’e ’ad seen Mr. Broughton an’ that it was all right about 
the cask, an’ for me to give it up to Felix at once. It said too 
that we ’ad to deliver the cask at the address that’was on it, an’ 
for me to go there along with it and Felix, an’ to report if it was 
safely delivered. 

“ ‘That’s all right, sir,’ said I, an’ I called to some o’ the boys, 
an’ we got the cask swung ashore an’ on to a four-wheeled dray 
Felix ’ad waiting. ’E ’ad two men with it, a big, strong fellow 
with red ’air an’ a smaller dark chap that drove. We turned east 
at the dock gates, an’ then went up Leman Street an’ on into a 
part o’ the city I didn’t know. 

“When we ’ad gone a mile or more, the red-’aired man said ’e 
could do with a drink. Felix wanted ’im to carry on at first, but 


24 THE CASK 

’e gave in after a bit an’ we stopped in front o’ a bar. The small 
man’s name was Watty, an’ Felix asked ’im could ’e leave the 
’orse, but Watty, said ‘No,’ an’ then Felix told ’im to mind it while 
the rest of us went in, an’ ’e would come out soon an’ look after 
it, so’s Watty could go in ’an get ’is drink. So Felix an’ I an’ 
Ginger went in, an’ Felix ordered four bottles o’ beer an’ paid for 
them. Felix drank ’is off, an’ then ’e told us to wait till ’e would 
^ send Watty in for ’is, an’ went out. As soon as ’e ’ad gone Ginger 
leant over an’ whispered to me, ‘Say, mate, wot’s ’is game with 
the blooming cask? I lay you five to one ’e ’as something 
crooked on.” 

“ ‘Why,’ said I, ‘I don’t know about that.’ You see, sir, I ’ad 
thought the same myself, but then Mr. Avery wouldn’t ’ave writ¬ 
ten wot it was all right if it wasn’t. 

“ ‘Well, see ’ere,” said Ginger, “maybe if you an’ I was to keep 
our eyes skinned, it might put a few quid in our pockets.” 

“ ‘ ’Ow’s that?’ said I. 

“ ‘ ’Ow’s it yourself?’ said ’e. Hf ’e ’as some game on wi’ the 
cask ’e’ll not be wanting for to let any outsiders in. If you an’ 
me was to offer for to let them in for ’im, ’e’d maybe think we was 
worth something.’ 

“Well, gentlemen, I thought over that, an’ first I wondered 
if this chap knew there was a body in the cask, an’ I was going 
to see if I couldn’t find out without giving myself away. Then I 
thought maybe ’e was on the same lay, an’ was pumping me. So 
I thought I would pass it off a while, an’ I said:— 

“ ‘Would Watty come in?’ ” 

“Ginger said ‘No,’ that three was too many for a job o’ that 
kind, an’ we talked on a while. Then I ’appened to look at 
Watty’s beer standing there, an’ I wondered ’e ’hadn’t been in 
for it. 

“ ‘That beer won’t keep,’ I said. ‘If that blighter wants it 
’e’d better come an’ get it.’ 

“Ginger •sat up when ’e ’eard that. 

“ ‘Wots wrong with ’im?’ ’e .said. ‘I’ll drop out an’ see.’ 

“I don’t know why,-gentlemen, but I got a kind o’ notion there 
was something in the air, an’ I followed ’im out. The dray was 
gone. We looked up an’ down the street, but there wasn’t a sign 
of it nor Felix nor Watty. 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY ON THE TRACK 


25 


“ ‘Blow me, if they ’aven’t given us the slip,” shouted Ginger. 
‘Get a move on. You go that way an’ I’ll go this, an’ one of us 
is bound to see them at the corner.’ 

“I guessed I was on to the game then. These three were 
wrong ’uns, an’ they were out to get rid o’ the body, an’ they 
didn’t want me around to see the grave. All that about the drinks 
was a plan to get me away from the dray, an’ Ginger’s talk was 
only to keep me quiet till the others got clear. Well, two o’ 
them ’ad got quit o’ me right enough, but I was blessed if the third 
would. 

“ ‘No, you don’t, ol’ pal,’ I said. ‘I guess you an’ me’ll stay 
together.’ I took ’is arm an’ ’urried ’im on the way ’e ’ad wanted 
to go ’imself But when we got to the corner there wasn’t sign o’ 
the dray. They ’ad given us the slip about proper. 

“Ginger cursed an’ raved, an’ wanted to know ’oo was going to 
pay ’im for ’is day. I tried to get out of ’im ’oo ’e was an’ ’oo 
’ad ’ired ’im, but ’e wasn’t giving anything away. I kept close 
beside ’im, for I knew ’e’d ’ave to go ’ome some time, an’ I 
thought if I saw where ’e lived it would be easy to find out where 
’e worked, an’ so likely get ’old o’ Felix. ’E tried different times 
to juke away from me, an’ ’e got real mad when ’e found ’e 
couldn’t. 

“We walked about for more than three hours till it was near 
five o’clock, an’ then we ’ad some more beer, an’ when we came 
out o’ the bar we stood at the corner o’ two streets an’ thought 
wot we’d do next. An’ then suddenly Ginger lurched up against 
me, an’ I drove fair into an old woman that was passing, an’ 
nearly knocked ’er over. I caught ’er to keep ’er from falling—I 
couldn’t do no less—but when I looked round, I’m blessed if 
Ginger wasn’t gone. I ran down one street first, an’ then down 
the other, an’ then I went back into the bar, but never a sight of 
’im did I get. I cursed myself for every kind of a fool, an’ then I 
thought I’d better go back an’ tell Mr. Avery anyway. So I went 
to Fenchurch Street, an’ Mr. Broughton brought me along ’ere.” 

There was silence when the foreman ceased speaking, while 
Inspector Burnley, in his painstaking way, considered the state¬ 
ment he had heard, as well as that made by Broughton earlier in 
the day. He reviewed the chain of events in detail, endeavouring 
to separate out the undoubted facts from what might be only the 


26 


THE CASK 


narrator’s opinions. If the two men were to be believed, and 
Burnley had no reason for doubting either, the facts about the 
discovery and removal of the cask were clear, with one exception. 
There seemed to be no adequate proof that the cask really did 
contain a corpse. 

‘‘Mr. Broughton tells me he thought there was a body in the 
cask. Do you agree with that, Mr. Harkness?” 

“Yes, sir, there’s no doubt of it. We both saw a woman’s 
hand.” 

“But might it not have been a statue? The cask was labelled 
‘Statuary,’ I understand.’ ” 

“No, sir, it wasn’t no statue. Mr. Broughton thought that at 
first, but when ’e looked at it again ’e gave in I was right. It 
was a body, sure enough.” 

Further questions showed that both men were convinced the 
hand was real, though neither could advance any grounds for their 
belief other than that he ‘knew from the look of it.’ The In¬ 
spector was not satisfied that their opinion was correct, though 
he thought it probable. He also noted the possibility of the cask 
containing a hand only or perhaps an arm, and it passed through 
his mind that such a thing might be backed by a medical student 
as a somewhat gruesome practical joke. Then he turned to Hark¬ 
ness again. 

“Have you the letter Felix gave you on the Bullfinch?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied the foreman, handing it over. 

It was written in what looked like a junior clerk’s handwriting 
on a small-sized sheet of business letter paper. It bore the I. and 
C.’s ordinary printed heading, and read:— 

“5/^ April, 1912. 

“Mr. Harkness, 
on s.s. Bullfinch, 

St. Katherine’s Docks. 

“Re Mr. Broughton’s conversation with you about cask for 
Mr. Felix. 

“I have seen Mr. Broughton and Mr. Felix on this matter, and 
am satisfied the cask is for Mr. Felix and should be delivered 
immediately. 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY ON THE TRACK 27 

“On receipt of this letter please hand it over to Mr. Felix with¬ 
out further delay. 

“As the Company is liable for its delivery at the address it 
bears, please accompany it as the representative of the Company, 
and report to me of its safe arrival in due course. 

“For the I. and C. S. N. Co., Ltd., 

“X. Avery, 

“per X. X., 

“Managing Director.’’ 

The initials shown “X” were undecipherable and were appar¬ 
ently written by a person in authority, though curiously the word 
‘Avery’ in the same hand was quite clear. 

“It’s written on your Company’s paper anyway,” said the In¬ 
spector to Broughton. “I suppose that heading is yours and not 
a fake?” 

“It’s ours right enough,” returned the clerk, “but I’m certain 
the letter’s a forgery for all that.” 

“I should imagine so, but just how do you know?” 

“For several reasons, sir. Firstly, we do not use that quality 
of paper for writing our own servants; we have a cheaper form 
of memorandum for that. Secondly, all our stuff is typewritten; 
and thirdly, that is not the signature of any of our clerks.” 

“Pretty conclusive. It is evident that the forger did not know 
either your managing director’s or your clerks’ initials. His 
knowledge was confined to the name Avery, and from your state¬ 
ment we can conceive Felix having just that amount of in¬ 
formation.” 

“But how on earth did he get our paper?” 

Burnley smiled. 

“Oh, well, that’s not so difficult. Didn’t your head clerk give 
it to him?” 

“By Jove! sir, I see it now. He got a sheet of paper and an 
envelope to write to Mr. Avery. He left the envelope and 
vanished with the sheet.” 

“Of course. It occurred to me when Mr. Avery told me of the 
empty envelope. I guessed what he was going to do, and there¬ 
fore I hurried to the docks in the hope of being before him. And 


28 THE CASK 

now about that label on the cask. You might describe it again as 
fully as you can.^’ 

‘Tt was a card about six inches long by four high, fastened on 
by tacks all round the edge. Along the top was Dupierre’s name 
and advertisement, and in the bottom right-hand corner was a 
space about three inches by two for the address. There was a 
thick, black line round this space, and the card had been cut 
along this line so as to remove the enclosed portion and leave a 
hole three inches by two. The hole had been filled by pasting a 
sheet of paper or card behind the label. Felix’s address was 
therefore written on this paper, and not on the original card.” 

‘^A curious arrangement. How do you explain it?” 

“I thought perhaps Dupierre’s people had temporarily run out 
of labels and were making an old one do again.” 

Burnley replied absently, as he turned the matter over in his 
mind. The clerk’s suggestion was of course possible, in fact, if 
the cask really contained a statue, it was the likely one. On the 
other hand, if it held a body, he imagined the reason was further 
to seek. In this case he thought it improbable that the cask had 
come from Dupierre’s at all and, if not, what had happened? A 
possible explanation occurred to him. Suppose some unknown 
person had received a statue from Dupierre’s in the cask and, 
before returning the latter, had committed a murder. Suppose 
he wanted to get rid of the body by sending it somewhere in the 
cask. What would he do with the label? Why, what had been 
done. He would wish to retain Dupierre’s printed matter in order 
to facilitate the passage of the cask through the Customs, but he 
would have to change the written address. The Inspector could 
think of no better way of doing this than by the alteration that 
had been made. He turned again to his visitors. ^‘Well gentle- 
inen, I’m greatly obliged to you for your prompt call and informa¬ 
tion, and if you will give me your addresses, I think that is all we 
can do to-night.” 

^ Inspector Burnley again made his way home. But it was not 
his lucky night. About half-past nine he was again sent for from 
the Yard. Some one wanted to speak to him urgently on the 
telephone. 


CHAPTER III 


THE WATCHER ON THE WALL 

At the same time that Inspector Burnley was interviewing 
Broughton and Harkness in his office, another series of events 
centring round the cask was in progress in a different part of 
London. 

Police Constable Z76, John Walker in private life, was a newly- 
joined member of the force. A young man of ideas and of 
promise, he took himself and his work seriously. He had am¬ 
bitions, the chief of which was to become a detective officer, and 
he dreamed of the day when he would have climbed to the giddy 
eminence of an Inspector of the Yard. He had read Conan 
Doyle, Austin Freeman, and other masters of detective fiction, 
and their tales had stimulated his imagination. His efforts to 
emulate their heroes added to the interest of life and, if they 
did not do him very much good, at least did him no harm. 

About half-past six that evening. Constable Walker, attired in 
plain clothes, was strolling slowly along the Holloway Road. He 
had come off duty shortly before, had had his tea, and was now 
killing time until he could go to see the second instalment of 
that thrilling drama, ‘Xured by Love,” at the Islington Picture 
House. Though on pleasure bent, as he walked he kept on 
practising observation and deduction. He had made a habit of 
noting the appearance of the people he saw and trying to deduce 
their histories and, if he did not succeed in this so well as Sher¬ 
lock Holmes, he hoped he would some day. 

He looked at the people on the pathway beside him, but none 
of them seemed a good subject for study. But as his gaze swept 
over the vehicles in the roadway it fell on one which held his 
attention. 

Coming along the street to meet him was a four-wheeled dray 
drawn by a light brown horse. On the dray, upended, was a 
large cask. Two men sat in front. One, a thin-faced, wiry fel- 

29 


30 


THE CASK 


low was driving. The other a rather small-sized man, was lean¬ 
ing as if wearied out against the cask. This man had a black 
beard. 

Constable Walker’s heart beat fast. He had always made it 
a point to memorise thoroughly the descriptions of wanted men, 
and only that afternoon he had seen a wire from Headquarters 
containing the description of just such an equipage. It was 
wanted, and wanted badly. Had he found it? Constable 
Walker’s excitement grew as he wondered. 

Unostentatiously he turned and strolled in the direction in 
which the dray was going, while he laboured to recall in its every 
detail the description he had read. A four-wheeled dray—that 
was right; a single horse—^right also. A heavily made, iron- 
clamped cask with one stave broken at the end and roughly re¬ 
paired by nailing. He glanced at the vehicle which had now 
drawn level with him. Yes, the cask was well and heavily made 
and iron clamped, but whether it had a broken stave he could 
not tell. The dray was painted a brilliant blue and had a Totten¬ 
ham Court Road address. Here Constable Walker had a blow. 
This dray was a muddy brown colour and bore the name, John 
Lyons and Son, 127 Maddox Street, Lower Beechwood Road. 
He suffered a keen disappointment. He had been getting so sure, 

and yet- It certainly looked very like what was wanted 

except for the colour. 

Constable Walker took another look at the reddish-brown paint. 
Curiously patchy it looked. Some parts were fresh and more 
or less glossy, others dull and drab. And then his excitement 
rose again to fever heat. He knew what that meant. 

As a boy he had had the run of the small painting establish¬ 
ment in the village in which he had been brought up, and he had 
learnt a thing or two about paint. He knew that if you want 
paint to dry very quickly you flat it—^you use turpentine or some 
other flatting instead of oil. Paint so made will dry in an hour, 
but it will have a dull, flat surface instead of a glossy one. But 
if you paint over with flat colour a surface recently painted in 
oil it will not dry so quickly, and when it does it dries in patches, 
the dry parts being dull, the wetter ones glossy. It was clear 
to Constable Walker that the dray had been recently painted 
with flat brown, and that it was only partly dry. 


THE WATCHER ON THE WALL 


31 


A thought struck him and he looked keenly at the mottled 
side. Yes, he was not mistaken. He could see dimly under 
the flat coat, faint traces of white lettering showing out lighter 
than the old blue ground. And then his heart leaped for be 
was sure! There was no possible chance of error! 

He let the vehicle draw ahead, keeping his eye carefully on it 
while he thought of his great luck. And then he recollected that 
there should have been four men with it. There was a tall man 
with a sandy moustache, prominent cheekbones, and a strong 
chin; a small, lightly made, foreign looking man with a black 
beard and two others whose descriptions had not been given. 
The man with the beard was on the dray, but the tall, red- 
haired man was not to be seen. Presumably the driver was one 
of the undescribed men. 

It occurred to Constable Walker that perhaps the other two 
were walking. He therefore let the vehicle draw still farther 
ahead, and devoted himself to a careful examination of all the 
male foot-passengers going in the same direction. He crossed 
and recrossed the road. But nowhere could he see any one an¬ 
swering to the red-haired man’s description. 

The quarry led steadily on in a northwesterly direction. Con¬ 
stable Walker following at a considerable distance behind. At 
the end of the Holloway Road it passed through Highgate, and 
continued out along the Great North Road. By this time it was 
growing dusk, and the constable drew slightly closer so as not 
to miss it if if made a sudden turn. 

For nearly four miles the chase continued. It was now nearly 
eight, and Constable Walker reflected with a transient feeling of 
regret that “Lured by Love” would then be in full swing. All 
immediate indications of the city had been left behind. The 
country was now suburban, the road being lined by detached and 
semidetached villas, with an occasional field bearing a “Building 
Ground to Let” notice. The night was warm and very quiet. 
There was still light in the west, but an occasional star was ap¬ 
pearing eastwards. Soon it would be quite dark. 

Suddenly the dray stopped and a man got down and opened 
the gate of a drive on the right-hand side of the road. The con¬ 
stable melted into the hedge some fifty yards behind and re¬ 
mained motionless. Soon he heard the dray move off again and 


32 


THE CASK 


the hard, rattling noise of the road gave place to the softer, 
slightly grating sound of gravel. As the constable crept up along 
the hedge he could see the light of the dray moving towards the 
right. 

A narrow lane branched off in the same direction immediately 
before reaching the property into which the dray had gone. The 
drive, in fact, was only some thirty feet beyond the lane and, 
so far as the constable could see, both lane and drive turned at 
right angles to the road and ran parallel, one outside and the 
other inside the property. The constable slipped down the lane, 
thus leaving the thick boundary hedge between himself and the 
others. 

It was nearly though not quite dark, and the constable could 
make out the rather low outline of the house, showing black 
against the sky. The door was in the end gable facing the lane 
and was open, though the house was entirely in darkness. Be¬ 
hind the house, from the end of the gable and parallel to the 
lane, ran a wall about eight feet high, evidently the yard wall, 
in which was a gate. The drive passed the hall door and gable 
and led up to this gate. The buildings were close to the lane, 
not more than forty feet from where the constable crouched. 
Immediately inside the hedge was a row of small trees. 

Standing in front of the yard gate was the dray, with one man 
at the horse’s head. As the constable crept closer he heard sounds 
of unbarring, and the gate swung open. In silence the man out¬ 
side led the dray within and the gate swung to. 

The spirit of adventure had risen high in Constable Walker, 
and he felt impelled to get still closer to see what was going on. 
. Opposite the hall door he had noticed a little gate in the hedge, 
and he retraced his steps to this and with infinite care opened it 
and passed silently through. Keeping well in the shadow of the 
hedge and under the trees, he crept down again opposite the 
yard door and reconnoitred. 

Beyond the gate, that is on the side away from the house, the 
yard wall ran on for some fifty feet, at the end of which a cross 
hedge ran between it and the one under which he was standing. 
The constable moved warily along to this cross hedge, which he 
followed until he stood beside the wall. 

In the corner between the hedge and the wall, unobserved till 


THE WATCHER ON THE WALL 


33 


he reached it in the growing darkness, stood a small, openwork, 
rustic summer-house. As the constable looked at it an idea oc¬ 
curred to him. 

With the utmiost care he began to climb the side of the summer¬ 
house, testing every foothold before trusting his weight on it. 
Slowly he worked his way up until, cautiously raising his head, 
he was able to peep over the wall. 

The yard was of fair length, stretching from where he crouched 
to the house, a distance of seventy or eighty feet, but was not 
more than about thirty feet wide. Along the opposite side it 
was bounded by a row of out-offices. The large double doors of 
one of these, apparently a coach-house, were open, and a light 
shone out from the interior. In front of the doorway and with 
its back to it stood the dray. 

The coach-house being near the far end of the yard. Constable 
Walker was unable to see what was taking place within. He 
therefore raised himself upon the wall and slowly and silently 
crawled along the coping in the direction of the house. He was 
aware his strategic position was bad, but he reflected that, being 
on the southeast side of the yard, he had dark sky behind him, 
while the row of trees would still further blacken his back¬ 
ground. He felt safe from observation, and continued till he was 
nearly opposite the coach-house. Then he stretched himself flat 
on the coping, hid his face, which he feared might show white if 
the lantern shone on it, behind the dark sleeve of his reddish 
brown coat, and waited. 

He could now see into the coach-house. It was an empty room 
of fair size with whitewashed walls and a cement floor. On a 
peg in the wall hung a hurricane lamp, and by its light he saw 
the bearded man descending a pair of steps which was placed in 
the centre of the floor. The wiry man stood close by. 

^‘That hook’s all right,” said the bearded man, ^T have it over 
the tie beam. Now for the differential.” 

He disappeared into an adjoining room, returning in a moment 
with a small set of chain blocks. Taking the end of this up 
the steps, he made it fast to something above. The steps were 
then removed, and Constable Walker could just see below the 
lintel of the door, the hook of the block with a thin chain sling 
hanging over it. 


34 


THE CASK 


‘‘Now back in,” said the bearded man. 

The dray was backed in until the cask stood beneath the 
blocks. Both men with some apparent difficulty got the sling 
fixed, and then pulling on the chain loop, slowly raised the cask. 

“That’ll do,” said the bearded man when it was some six 
inches up. “Draw out now.” 

The wiry man came to the horse’s head and brought the dray 
out of the building, stopping in front of the yard gate. Taking 
the lantern from its hook and leaving the cask swinging in mid¬ 
air, the bearded man followed. He closed the coach-house doors 
and secured them with a running bolt and padlock, then crossed 
to the yard gates and began unfastening them. Both men were 
now within fifteen feet of Constable Walker, and he lay scarcely 
daring to breathe. 

The wiry man spoke for the first time. 

“ ’Arf a mo,’ mister,” he said, “what abaht that there money?” 

“Well,” said the other, “I’ll give you yours now, and the other 
fellow can have his any time he comes for it.” 

“I don’t think,” the wiry man replied aggressively. “I’ll take 
my pal’s now along o’ my own. When would ’e ’ave time to 
come around ’ere looking for it?” 

“If I give it to you, what guarantee have I that he won’t deny 
getting it and come and ask for more?” 

“You’ll ’ave no guarantee at all abaht it, only that I just tells 
yer. Come on, mister, ’and it over an’ let me get away. And don’t 
yer go for to think two quid’s goin’ for to settle it up. This ain’t 
the job wot we expected when we was ’ired, this ain’t. If you want 
us for to carry your little game through on the strict q.t., why, 
you’ll ’ave to pay for it, that’s wot.” 

“Confound your impertinence! What the devil do you mean?” 

The other leered. 

“There ain’t no cause for you to swear at a poor workin’ man. 
Come now, mister, you an’ me understands each other well enough. 
You don’t want no questions asked. Ten quid apiece an’ me an’ 
my pal we don’t know nothin’ abaht it.” 

J^My good man, you’ve gone out of your isenses. I have 
nothing to keep quiet. This business is quite correct.” 

The wiry man winked deliberately. 


THE WATCHER ON THE WALL 35 

‘That^s orl right, mister, it’s quite c’rrect. And ten quid 
apiece’ll keep it that way?” 

There was silence for a moment, anjd the bearded man 
spoke:— 

“You suspect there is something wrong about the cask? Well, 
you’re wrong, for there isn’t. But I admit that if you talk before 
Thursday next I’ll lose my bet. See here. I’ll give you five 
pounds apiece and you may have your mate’s.” He counted out 
some coins, chinking them in his hands. “You may take it or 
leave it. You won’t get any more, for then it would be cheaper 
for me to lose the bet.” 

The wiry man paused, eyeing the gold greedily. He opened 
his mouth to reply, then a sudden thought seemed to strike 
him. Irresolutely he stood, glancing questioningly at the other. 
Constable Walker could see his face clearly in the light of the 
lantern, with an evil, sardonic smile curling his lips. Then, like 
a man who, after weighing a problem, comes to a decision, he 
took the money and turned to the horse’s head. 

“Well, mister,” he said, as he put his vehicle in motion, “that’s 
straight enough. I’ll stand by it.” 

The bearded man closed and bolted the yard gates and dis¬ 
appeared with his lantern into the house. In a few seconds the 
sounds of the receding wheels on the gravel ceased and every¬ 
thing was still. 

After waiting a few minutes motionless. Constable Walker 
slipped off the coping of the wall and dropped noiselessly to the 
ground. Tiptoeing across to the hedge, he passed silently out of 
the little gate and regained the lane. 


CHAPTER IV 


A MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW 

The constable paused in the lane and considered. Up to the 
present he felt he had done splendidly, and he congratulated him¬ 
self 01 ? his luck. But his next step he did not see clearly at all. 
Should he find the nearest police station and advise the head con¬ 
stable, or should he telephone, or even go to Scotland Yard? Or 
more difficult still, should he remain where he was and look out 
for fresh developments? 

He paused irresolutely for some fifteen minutes pondering the 
situation, and had almost made up his mind to telephone for in¬ 
structions to his own station, when he heard a footstep slowly 
approaching along the lane. Anxious to remain unseen, he rapidly 
regained the small gate in the hedge, passed inside and took up a 
position behind the trunk of one of the small trees. The sounds 
grew gradually nearer. Whoever was approaching was doing so 
exceedingly slowly, and seemed to be coming on tiptoe. The steps 
passed the place where the constable waited, and he could make 
out dimly the form of what seemed to be a man of medium height. 
In a few seconds they stopped, and then returned slowly past the 
constable, finally coming to a stand close by the little gate. It 
was intensely still, and the constable could hear the unknown 
yawning and softly clearing his throat. 

The last trace of light had gone from the sky and the stars 
were showing brightly. There was no wind but a sharpness began 
to creep into the air. At intervals came the disconnected sounds 
of night, the bark of a dog, the rustle of some small animal in the 
grass, the rush of a motor passing on the high road. 

The constable’s problem was settled for him for the moment. 
He could not move while the other watcher remained. He gave 
a gentle little shiver and settled down to wait. 

He began reckoning the time. It must, he thought, be about 
half-past eight o’clock. It was about eight when the dray had 

36 


A MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW 


37 


turned into the drive and he was sure half an hour at least must 
have passed since then. He had leave until ten and he did not 
want to be late without authority, though surely, under the cir¬ 
cumstances, an excuse would be made for him. He began to 
picture the scene if he were late, the cold anger of the sergeant, 
the threat to report him, then his explanation, the sudden change 
of manner. . . . 

A faint click of what seemed to be the entrance gate of the 
drive recalled him with a start to his present position. Footsteps 
sounded on the gravel, firm, heavy footsteps, walking quickly. A 
man was approaching the house. 

Constable Walker edged round the tree trunk so as to get it 
between himself and any light that might come from the hall door. 
The man reached the door and rang. 

In a few seconds a light appeared through the fanlight, and the 
door was opened by the bearded man. A big, broad-shouldered 
man in a dark overcoat and soft hat stood on the steps. 

‘‘Hallo, Felix!” cried the new-comer heartily. “Glad to see 
youke at home. When did you get back?” 

“That you, Martin? Come in. I got back on Sunday night.” 

“I’ll not go in, thanks, but I want you to come round and 
make up a four at bridge. Tom Brice is with us, and he has 
brought along a friend of his, a young solicitor from Liverpool. 
You’ll come, won’t you?” 

The man addressed as Felix hesitated a moment before replying. 

“Thanks, yes. I’ll go, certainly. But I’m all alone and I 
haven’t changed. Come in a minute till I do so.” 

“And, if it’s a fair question, where did you get your dinner if 
you’re all alone?” 

“In town. I’m only just home.” 

They went in and the door was closed. Some few minutes 
later they emerged again and, pulling the door behind them, dis¬ 
appeared down the drive, the distant click of the gate signifying 
their arrival at the road. As soon as this sounded, the watcher 
in the lane moved rapidly, though silently, after them, and Con¬ 
stable Walker was left in undisputed possession. 

On the coast becoming clear he slipped out on to the lane, 
walked down it to the road and turned back in the direction of 
London. As he did so a clock struck nine. 


38 


THE CASK 


Entering the first inn he came to, he called for a glass of ale 
and, getting into conversation with the landlord, learnt that he 
was near the hamlet of Brent, on the Great North Road, and that 
Mr. Felix’s house was named St. Malo. He also inquired his 
way to the nearest public telephone, which, fortunately, was 
close by. 

A few minutes later he was speaking to Scotland Yard. He 
had to wait for a little time while Inspector Burnley, who had 
gone home, was being fetched, but in fifteen minutes he had made 
his report and was awaiting instructions. 

The Inspector questioned him closely about the position of the 
house, finally instructing him to return to his post behind the 
tree and await developments. 

‘T will go out with some men now, and will look for you by the 
little gate in the hedge.” 

Constable Walker walked rapidly back, and as he did so the 
same clock struck ten. He had been gone exactly an hour. In 
the meantime. Inspector Burnley got a taxi and, after a careful 
examination of his route and the district on a large scale map, 
started for St. Malo with three other men. He called on his way 
at Walpole Terrace, Queen Mary Road, where Tom Broughton 
lived and delighted that young man by inviting him to join the 
party. On the way, he explained in detail the lie of the house 
and grounds, where he wanted each man to stand, and what was 
to be done in various eventualities. The streets were full of 
people and motoring was slow, but it was still considerably before 
eleven when they entered the Great North Road. 

They ran on till the Inspector judged they were not far from 
the house, when the car was run up a side road and the engine 
stopped. The five men then walked on in silence. 

“Wait here,” whispered Burnley, when they had gone some dis¬ 
tance, and slipped away into the dark. He found the lane, walked 
softly down it until he came to the little gate, slipped inside and 
came up to Constable Walker standing behind his tree. 

“I’m Inspector Burnley,” he whispered. “Has any one come in 
or out yet?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Well, wait here until I post my men.” 


A MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW 39 

He returned to the others and, speaking in a whisper, gave his 
directions. 

“You men take up the positions I explained to you. Listen 
out for a whistle to close in. Mr. Broughton, you come with me 
and keep silent.” 

The Inspector and his young acquaintance walked down the 
lane, stopping outside the little gate. The other three men posted 
themselves at various points in the grounds. And then they 
waited. 

It seemed to Broughton that several hours must have passed 
when a clock in the distance struck twelve. He and the Inspector 
were standing beside each other concealed under the hedge. Once 
or twice he had attempted whispered remarks, but Burnley was 
not responsive. It was rather cold and the stars were bright. A 
light breeze had risen and it rustled gently through the hedge and 
stirred the branches of the trees. An insistent dog was barking 
somewhere away to the right. A cart passed on the road, the 
wheels knocking on their axles annoyingly. It took ages to get 
out of earshot, the sounds coming in rotation through nearly a 
quarter of the compass. Then a car followed with a swift rush, 
the glare of the headlights glancing along through the trees. And 
still nothing happened. 

After further ages the clock struck again—one. A second dog 
began barking. The breeze freshened, and Broughton wished he 
had brought a heavier coat. He longed to stamp up and down 
and ease his cramped limbs. And then the latch of the road gate 
clicked and footsteps sounded on the gravel. 

They waited motionless as the steps came nearer. Soon a 
black shadow came into view and moved to the hall door. There 
was a jingling of keys, the rattling of a lock, the outline of the 
door became still darker, the shadow disappeared within and the 
door was closed. 

Immediately Burnley whispered to Broughton:— 

“I am going now to ring at the door, and when he opens it I 
will flash my light in his face. Take a good look at him and if 
you are sure—absolutely positive—it is Felix, say “yes,” just the 
one word ‘yes.’ Do you understand?” 

They went in through the small gate, no longer taking any 


40 the cask 

precautions against noise, walked to the door, and Burnley 
knocked loudly. 

“Now, remember, don’t speak unless you are sure,” he 
whispered. 

A light flickered through the fanlight and the door was opened. 
A beam from the Inspector’s dark lantern flashed on the face of 
the man within, revealing the same dark complexion and black 
beard that had attracted Constable Walker’s attention. The word 
“Yes” came from Broughton and the Inspector said— 

“Mr. Leon Felix, I am Inspector Burnley from Scotland Yard. 

I have called on rather urgent business, and would be glad of a 
few minutes’ conversation.” 

The black-bearded man started. 

“Oh, certainly,” he said, after a momentary pause, “though I 
don’t know that it is quite the hour I would have suggested for a 
chat. Will you come in?” 

“Thanks. I’m sorry it’s late, but I have been waiting for you 
for a considerable time. Perhaps my man might sit in the hall 
out of the cold?” 

Burnley called over one of his men who had been stationed 
near the summer-house. 

“Wait here till I speak to Mr. Felix, Hastings,” he said, giving 
him a sign to be ready if called on. Then, leaving Broughton out¬ 
side with Constable Walker and the other men, he followed Felix 
into a room on the left of the hall. 

It was fitted up comfortably though not luxuriously as a study. 
In the middle of the room stood a flat-topped desk of modern 
design. Two deep, leather-covered arm-chairs were drawn up 
on each side of the fireplace, in which the embers still glowed. A 
tantalus stood on a small side table with a box of cigars. The 
walls were lined with bookshelves with here and there a good 
print. Felix lighted a reading-lamp which stood on the desk. 
He turned to Burnley. 

“Is it a sitting down matter?” he said, indicating one of the 
arm-chairs. The Inspector took it while Felix dropped into the 
other. 

“I want, Mr. Felix,” began the detective, “to make some in¬ 
quiries about a cask which you got from the steamer Bullfinch this 


A MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW 41 

morning—or rather yesterday, for this is really Tuesday—and 
which I have reason to believe is still in your possession.” 

^‘Yes?” 

“The steamboat people think that a mistake has been made and 
that the cask that you received was not the one consigned to you, 
and which you expected.” 

“The cask I received is my own property. It was invoiced to 
me and the freight was paid. What more do the shipping com¬ 
pany want?” 

“But the cask you received was not addressed to you. It was 
invoiced to a Mr. Felix of West Jubb Street, Tottenham Court 
Road.” 

“The cask was addressed to me. I admit the friend who sent 
it made a mistake in the address, but it was for me all the same.” 

“But if we bring the other Mr. Felix—The West Jubb Street 
Mr. Felix—^here, and he also claims it, you will not then,.I take 
it, persist in your claim?” 

The black-bearded man moved uneasily. He opened his mouth 
to reply, and then hesitated. The Inspector felt sure he had seen 
the little pitfall only just in time. 

“If you produce such a man,” he said at last, “I am sure I can 
easily convince him that the cask was really sent to me and not 
to him.” 

“Well, we shall see about that later. Meantime, another ques¬ 
tion. What was in the cask you were expecting?” 

“Statuary.” 

“You are sure of that?” 

“Why, of course I’m sure. Really, Mr. Inspector, I’d like to 
know by what right I am being subjected to this examination.” 

“I shall tell you, Mr. Felix. Scotland Yard has reason to 
believe there is something wrong about that cask, and an investi¬ 
gation has been ordered. You were naturally the first person to 
approach, but since the cask turns out not to be yours, we 
shall-” 

“Not to be mine? What do you mean? Who says it is not 
mine?” 

“Pardon me, you yourself said so. You have just told me the 
cask you expected contained statuary. We know the one you 



42 THE CASK 

received does not contain statuary. Therefore you have got the 
wrong one.” 

Felix paled suddenly, and a look of alarm crept into his eyes. 
Burnley leant forward and touched him on the knee. 

^‘You will see for yourself, Mr. Felix, that if this matter is to 
blow over we must have an explanation of these discrepancies. I 
am not suggesting you can’t give one. I am sure you can. But 
if you refuse to do so you will undoubtedly arouse unpleasant 
suspicions.” 

Felix remained silent, and the Inspector did not interrupt his 
train of thought. 

“Well,” he said at length, “I have really nothing to hide, only 
one does not like being bluffed. I will tell you, if I can, what you 
want to know. Satisfy me that you are from Scotland Yard.” 

Burnley showed his credentials, and the other said:— 

“Verj^ good. Then I may admit I misled you about the con¬ 
tents of the cask, though I told you the literal and absolute truth. 
The cask is full of plaques—^plaques of kings and queens. Isn’t 
that statuary? And if the plaques should be small and made of 
gold and called sovereigns, aren’t they still statuary? That is 
what the cask contains, Mr. Inspector. Sovereigns. £988 in 
gold.” 

“What else?” 

“Nothing else.” 

“Oh, come now, Mr. Felix. We knew there was money in the 
cask. We also know there is something else. Think again.” 

“Oh, well, there will be packing, of course. I haven’t opened 
it and I don’t know. But £988 in gold would go a small way 
towards filling it. There will be sand or perhaps alabaster or 
some other packing.” 

“I don’t mean packing. Do you distinctly tell me no other 
special object was included?” 

“Certainly, but I suppose I’d better explain the whole thing.” 

He stirred the embers of the fire together, threw on a couple of 
logs and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. 


CHAPTER V 


FELIX TELLS A STORY 

^T AM a Frenchman, as you know,’’ began Felix, “but I have lived 
in London for some years, and I run over to Paris frequently on 
both business and pleasure. About three weeks ago on one of 
these visits I dropped into the Cafe Toisson d’Or in the rue 
Royale, where I joined a group of acquaintances. The conversa¬ 
tion turned on the French Government lotteries, and one of the 
men, a M. Le Gautier, who had been defending the system, said 
to me, ‘Why not join in a little flutter?’ I refused at first, but 
afterwards changed my mind and said I would sport 500 francs 
if he did the same. He agreed, and I gave him £20 odd as my 
share. He was to carry the business through in his name, letting 
me know the result and halving the profits, if any. I thought no 
more about the matter till last Friday, when, on my return home 
in the evening, I found a letter from Le Gautier, which surprised, 
pleased, and annoyed me in equal measure.” 

Mr. Felix drew a letter from a drawer of his writing-table and 
passed it to the Inspector. It was in French, and though the 
latter had a fair knowledge of the language, he was not quite equal 
to the task, and Mr. Felix translated. The letter ran as 
follows:— 

“Rue de Vallorbes, 997, 
“Avenue Friedland, 
“Paris. 

“Thursday, 15/ April, 1912 

“My Dear Felix, —I have just had the most wonderful news! 
We have won I The lottery has drawn trumps and our 1000 
francs has become 50,000—25,000 francs each! I shake both 
your hands! 

“The money I have already received, and I am sending your 
share at once. And now, old chap, do not be very annoyed when 
I tell you I am playing a little trick on you. I apologise. 

43 


44 


THE CASK 


^‘You remember Dumarchez? Well, he and I had an argument 
about you last week. We were discussing the ingenuity and re¬ 
source of criminals in evading the police. Your name happened 
to be mentioned, and I remarked what a splendid criminal a man 
of your inventive talents would make. He said ‘No,’ that you 
were too transparently honest to deceive the police. We got hot 
about it and finally arranged a little test. I have packed your 
money in a cask, in English sovereigns—there are 988 of them— 
and am booking it to you, carriage paid, by the Insular and Con¬ 
tinental Steam Navigation Company’s boat from Rouen, due in 
London about Monday, Sth April. But I am addressing it to 
‘M. Leon Felix, 141 West Jubb Street, Tottenham Court Road, 
London, W.,’ and labelling it ‘Statuary only,’ from Dupierre et 
Cie., the monumental sculptors of Crenelle. It will take some 
ingenuity to get a falsely addressed and falsely described cask 
away from the steamer officials without being suspected of theft. 
That is the test. I have bet Dumarchez an even 5000 francs that 
you will do it. He says you will certainly be caught. 

“I send you my best congratulations on the greatness of your 
coup, of which the visible evidence goes to you in the cask, and my 
only regret is that I shall be unable to be present to see you 
open it. 

“With profound apologies, 

“Yours very truly, 

“Alphonse Le Gautier. 

''P.S.—Please excuse the typewriter, but I have hurt my hand.” 

“I don’t know whether pleasure at the unexpected windfall of 
nearly £1000, or annoyance at Le Gautier’s test with the cask 
was my strongest emotion. The more I thought of this part of it, 
the more angry I became. It was one thing that my friends 
should amuse themselves by backing their silly theories, it was 
quite another that I should be the victim and scapegoat of their 
nonsense. Two things obviously might lead to complications. If 
it came out that a cask labelled “Statuary” contained gold, sus¬ 
picion would be aroused, and the same thing would happen if any 
one discovered the address to be false. The contents of the cask 
might be questioned owing to the weight—that I did not know; 
the false address might come to light if an advice note of the 


FELIX TELLS A STORY 


45 

cask’s arrival was sent out, while there was always the fear of 
unforeseen accidents. I was highly incensed, and I determined 
to wire early next morning to Le Gautier asking him not to send 
the cask, and saying I would-go over and get the money. But to 
my further annoyance I had a card by the first post which said 
that the cask had already been despatched. 

'Tt was clear to me then that I must make arrangements to get 
it away as soon as possible after the boat came in, and before 
inquiries began to be made. I accordingly made my plans and, 
as I did so, my annoyance passed away and I got interested in 
the sporting side of the affair. First, I had a few cards of the 
false address printed. Then I found an obscure carting contract¬ 
or, from whom I hired a four-wheeled dray and two men, together 
with the use of an empty shed for three days. 

“I had found out that the Steam Navigation boat would be due 
on the following Monday, and on the preceding Saturday I 
brought the men and the dray to the shed and prepared them for 
what I wanted done. To enlist their help and prevent them 
becoming suspicious, I gave the former a qualified version of Le 
Gautier’s story. I told them I had made a bet and said I wanted 
their help to pull it off. A certain cask was coming in by the 
Rouen boat, addressed to a friend of mine, and he had bet me a 
large sum that I could not get this cask from the steamer people 
and take it to my house, while I held that I could. The point 
was to test the effectiveness of the ordinary business precautions. 
In order, I told the men, that no real trouble should arise and that 
I should not, in the event of failure, be charged with theft, my 
friend had given me a written authorisation to take the cask. 
This I had written out previously and I showed it to them. 

I Finally, I promised them two pounds each if we succeeded. 

I had got a couple of pots of quick-drying blue and white 
! paint, and I altered the lettering on the dray to that of the 
1 address my Paris friend had put on the cask. I am skilful at this 
kind of work and I did it myself. 

“On Monday morning we drove to the docks, and I found the 
Bullfinch had just come in with the Paris goods aboard. She was 
discharging casks from the forehold, and I strolled along the wharf 
and had a look at the work. The casks coming ashore were wine- 
casks, but I noticed one at the side of the hold, over which one of 





46 


THE CASK 


the dockers and a young man who looked like a clerk were bend¬ 
ing. They seemed very engrossed, and of course I wondered, Ts 
this my cask, and have they discovered the gold?’ I spoke to 
^the young man, found that the cask was mine, and asked him if 
I could get it away at once. 

“He was quite polite, but would not help me, referring me to 
the quay office and offering to take me there and find a clerk to 
attend to me. As we were leaving he called out to the man at 
the cask, ^You understand, Harkness, to do nothing till you hear 
from Mr. Avery.’ ” ,, 

At the wharf office the young man left me in the outer office 
while he went, as he said, tq get the proper clerk for my work. 
But he returned with a man that was evidently the manager, and 
I knew at once that something was wrong. This opinion was con¬ 
firmed when the manager began raising objection after objection 
to letting the cask go. 

“Some judicious questions elicited the fact that ‘Mr. Avery’ 
was the managing director in the head office in Fenchurch Street. 
I left the wharf office, sat down on some boxes, and thought out 
the situation. 

“It was clear that something had aroused the suspicions of the 
clerk and the docker, Harkness, and the former’s remark to the 
latter to do nothing without instructions from Mr. Avery seemed 
to mean that the matter was to be laid before that gentleman. 
To ‘do nothing’ evidently meant to hold on to the cask. If I 
were to get my property it was clear I must see to the supplying 
of those instructions myself. 

“I went to Fenchurch Street and asked for Mr. Avery. For¬ 
tunately for me he was engaged. I said I could not wait, and 
asked for a sheet of paper and envelope on which to write him a 
note. By the simple expedient of sealing and addressing the 
empty envelope, I thus provided myself with a sheet of paper 
bearing the firm’s heading. 

“I dropped into a bar and, ordering some ale, borrowed a pen 
and ink. Then I composed a letter from Mr. Avery to Harkness, 
instructing him to hand over the cask at once to me. 

“While I was writing this it occurred to me that if this man’s 
suspicions were really seriously aroused, he would probably follow 
the cask and thus trace me to my house. I lost another quarter 


FELIX TELLS A STORY 


47 


of an hour pondering this problem. Then an idea occurred to me, 
and I added a paragraph saying that as the Navigation Company 
had contracted to deliver the cask at an address in the city, he, 
Harkness, was to accompany it and see that it reached its destina¬ 
tion safely. 

‘T wrote the letter in the round hand of a junior clerk, signing it 
‘The I. and C. S. N. Co., Ltd., per’ in the same hand, and ‘Avery’ 
with an undecipherable initial in another kind of writing, and 
another ‘per,’ and then two not very clear initials. I hoped in this 
way to mislead Harkness, if he happened to know the genuine 
signature. 

“It was my design to get Harkness away from the ship with the 
cask and my own men, when I hoped to find some way of giving 
him the slip. This I eventually did by instructing one of the 
men to clamour for a drink, and the other, a man named Watty, 
to refuse to leave the horse when I invited the party to a bar for 
some beer. On the plea of relieving Watty, I left Harkness and 
the other man drinking in the bar, and slipped away with 
Watty and the dray. Then he and I went back to the shed and 
I ran a coat of paint over the dray, restoring it to its original 
brown and painting out the fictitious name. In the evening we 
brought the dray home, timing ourselves to arrive here after dark, 
and unloaded the cask in one of the out-houses, where it now is.” 

When Felix ceased speaking, the two men sat in silence for 
several minutes while Burnley turned the statement over in his 
mind. The sequence of events was unusual, but the story hung 
together, and, as he went over it in detail, he could see no reason 
why it should not, from Felix’s point of view, be true. If Felix 
believed his friend’s letter, as he appeared to, his actions were 
accounted for, and if the cask really contained a statue, the 
letter might explain the whole thing. On the other hand, if it 
held a corpse, the letter was a fraud, to which Felix might or 
might not be party. 

Gradually, as he pondered, the matter shaped itself into three 
main considerations. 

First, there was Felix’s general bearing and manner. The In¬ 
spector had a long and varied experience of men who told the 
truth and of men who lied, and all his instincts led him to believe 
this man. He was aware that such instincts are liable to error— 


48 


THE CASK 


he had himself erred on more than one occasion in the past—^yet 
he could not overlook the fact that Felix’s bearing, as far as his 
impression went, was that of a sincere and honest man. Such a 
consideration would not be a decisive factor in his conclusion, but 
it would undoubtedly weigh. 

Secondly, there was Felix’s account of his actions in London. 
Of the truth of this the Inspector had already received consider¬ 
able independent testimony. He reviewed the chain of events 
and was surprised to find how few statements of Felix were un¬ 
supported. His first visit to the Bullfinch had been described in 
almost similar terms by Broughton and by Huston in the wharf 
office. His call at the Fenchurch Street office and the ruse by 
which he obtained the shipping company’s headed notepaper had 
been testified to by Mr. Avery and his chief clerk, Wilcox. His 
description of the letter he had written to Harkness was certainly 
accurate from the Inspector’s own knowledge. His account of the 
removal of the cask and the shaking off of Harkness was in agree¬ 
ment with the statement of the latter and finally, Felix’s descrip¬ 
tion of the removal of the cask to its present resting place was 
fully corroborated by Constable Walker. 

There was practically no part of the statement unsupported by 
outside evidence. In fact. Inspector Burnley could not recall any 
case where so much confirmation of a suspect’s story was forth¬ 
coming. Weighing the matter point by point, he came to the 
deliberate conclusion that he must unreservedly believe it. 

So much for Felix’s actions in London. But there was a third 
point—^his actions in Paris, culminating in the letter of his friend. 
The letter. That was the kernel of the nut. Was it really writ¬ 
ten under the circumstances described? Had Le Gautier written 
it? Was there even such a man as Le Gautier? All this, he 
thought, it should not be difficult to find out. He would get some 
more information from Felix and if necessary slip across to Paris 
and put the statements to the test. He broke the silence. 

“Who is M. Le Gautier?” 

“Junior partner in the firm of Le Gautier, Fils, wine merchants, 
in the rue Henri Quatre.” ^ 

“And M. Dumarchez?” 

“A stockbroker.” 

“Can you give me his address?” 


FELIX TELLS A STORY 


49 


“I don’t know his home address. His office is, I think, in the 
Boulevard Poissoniere. But I could get you the address from M. 
Le Gautier.” 

^‘Please give me an account of your relations with these gentle¬ 
men.” 

‘‘Well, I have known them both for years and we are good 
friends, but I cannot recall ever having had any money trans¬ 
actions with either until this matter of the lottery.” 

“The details of that mentioned in the letter are correct?” 

“Oh, perfecly.” 

“Can you remember where precisely the conversation about the 
lottery took place?” 

“It was in the ground floor room of the cafe, at the window to 
the right of the entrance, looking inwards.” 

“You say other gentlemen were present?” 

“Yes, a group of us were there and the conversation was 
general.” 

“Was your arrangement to enter the lottery heard by the 
group?” 

“Yes, we had quite a lot of good-natured chaff about it.” 

“And can you remember who were present?” 

Mr. Felix hesitated. 

“I’m not sure that I can,” he said at last. “The group was 
quite a casual one and I only joined it for a few moments. Le 
Gautier was there, of course, and a man called Daubigny, and 
Henri Boisson, and I think, Jaques Roget, but of him I’m not 
sure. There were a number of others also.” 

Felix answered the qj^uestions readily and the Inspector noted 
his replies. He felt inclined to believe the lottery business was 
genuine. At all events inquiries in Paris would speedily establish 
the point. But even if it was all true, that did not prove that Le 
Gautier had written the letter. A number of people had heard 
the conversation, and any one could have written it, even Felix 
himself. Ah, that was an idea! Could Felix be the writer? 
Was there any way of finding that out? The Inspector con¬ 
sidered and then spoke again. 

“Have you the envelope this letter came in?’^ 

“Eh?” said Felix, “the envelope? Why, no, I’m sure I haven’t. 
I never keep them.” 


50 


THE CASK 


‘‘Or the card?” 

Felix turned over the papers on his desk and rummaged in 
the drawers. 

“No,” he answered, “I can^t find it. I must have destroyed 
it, too.” 

There was then no proof that these communications had been 
received by Felix. On the other hand there was no reason to 
doubt it. The Inspector kept an open mind as he turned again 
to the letter. 

It was typewritten on rather thin, matt surfaced paper and, 
though Burnley was not an expert, he believed the type was 
foreign. Some signs of wear were present which he thought 
might identify the typewriter. The n’s and the r’s were leaning 
slightly to the right, the t’s and the e's were below alignment, 
and the I’s had lost the horizontal bar at the top of the down- 
stroke. He held the paper up to the light. The watermark was 
somewhat obscured by the type, but after a time he made it out. 
It was undoubtedly French paper. This, of course, would not 
weigh much, as Felix by his own statement, was frequently in 
Paris, but still it did weigh. 

The Inspector read the letter again. It was divided into four 
paragraphs and he pondered each in turn. The first was about 
the lottery. He did not know much about French lotteries, but 
the statements made could at least be verified. With the help 
of the French police it would be easy to find out if any drawings 
and payments had recently been made, and he could surely get 
a list of the winners. A winner of 50,000 francs, living in or 
near Paris, should be easily traced. 

The second and third paragraphs were about the bet and the 
sending of the cask. Burnley turned the details over in his mind. 
Was the whole story a likely one? It certainly did not strike 
him as such. Even if such an unusual bet had been made, the 
test was an extremely poor one. He could hardly believe that a 
man who could invent the plan of the cask would not have done 
better. And yet it was undoubtedly possible. 

Another idea entered the Inspector’s mind. He had, perhaps, 
been thinking too much of the £988, and too little of the woman’s 
hand. Suppose there really was a corpse in the cask. What 
then? 


FELIX TELLS A STORY 


51 


Such an assumption made all the circumstances more serious 
and explained partly the sending of the cask, but it did not, so far 
as the Inspector could see, throw light on the method of doing 
so. But when he came to the fourth paragraph he saw that it 
might easily bear two meanings. He read it again:— 

^T send you my best congratulations on the greatness of your 
coup, of which the visible evidence goes to you in the cask, and 
my only regret is that I shall be unable to be present to see you 
open it.’’ 

This seemed at first sight obviously to mean congratulations 
on winning the lottery, the “visible evidence” of which, namely 
£988 in gold, was in the cask. But did it really mean this? Did 
a more sinister interpretation not also offer itself? Suppose the 
body was the “visible evidence”? Suppose the death was the 
result, possibly indirect, of something that Felix had done. If 
money only was being sent, why should Le Gautier experience 
regret that he could not see the cask opened? But if a corpse 
was unexpectedly hidden there, would not that statement bte 
clarified? It certainly looked so. One thing at least seemed 
clear. If a corpse had been sent to Felix, he must know some¬ 
thing of the circumstances leading up to it. The Inspector spoke 
again:— 

“I am obliged for your statement, Mr. Felix, which, I may 
be allowed to say, I fully accept so far as it goes. But I fear 
you have not told me everything?” 

“I have told you everything material.” 

“Then I am afraid we are not in agreement as to what is 
material. At all events, it all goes back to my original question, 
What is in the cask?’ ” 

“Do you not accept my statement that it is money?” 

“I accept your statement that you believe it to be money. I 
do not necessarily accept your authority for that belief.” 

“Well,” said Felix, jumping up, “the cask’s in the coach-house 
and I see there is nothing for it but to go and open it now. I did 
not want to do so to-night, as I did not want to have all that 
gold lying loose about the house, but it’s clear nothing else will 
satisfy you.” 


52 


THE CASK 


^‘Thank you, Mr. Felix, I wanted you to make the suggestion. 
It is, as you say, the only way to settle the matter. Ill call 
Sergeant Hastings here as a witness and well go now.” 

In silence, Felix got a lantern and led the way. They passed 
through a back-door into the yard and paused at the coach-house 
door. 

“Hold the light, will you, while I get the keys.” 

Burnley threw a beam on the long running bolt that closed 
the two halves of the door. A padlock held the handle down on 
the staple. Felix inserted a key, but at his first touch the lock 
fell open. 

“Why, the thing’s not fastened!” he cried, “and I locked it 
myself a few hours ago!” 

He removed the padlock and withdrew the running bolt, swing¬ 
ing the large door open. Burnley flashed in the lantern. 

“Is the cask here?” he said. 

“Yes, swinging there from the ceiling,” answered Felix, as he 
came over from fastening back the door. Then his jaw dropped 
and he stared fixedly. 

“My heavens! ” he gasped, in a strangled tone, “it’s gone! The 
cask’s gone!” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE ART OF DETECTION 

Astonished as Burnley was himself at this unexpected develop¬ 
ment, he did not forget to keep a keen watch on Felix. That the 
latter was genuinely amazed and dumbfounded he could not 
doubt. Not only was his surprise too obviously real to be ques¬ 
tioned, but his anger and annoyance at losing his money were 
clearly heartfelt. 

locked it myself. I locked it myself,’’ he kept on repeating. 
“It was there at eight o’clock, and who could get at it since 
then? Why, no one but myself knew about it. How could any 
one else have known?” 

“That’s what we have to find out,” returned the Inspector. 
“Come back to the house, Mr. Felix, and let us talk it over. We 
cannot do anything outside until it gets light.” 

“You may not know,” he continued, “that you were followed 
here with your cask by one of our men, who watched you unload¬ 
ing it in the coach-house. He waited till you left with your 
friend Martin, a few minutes before nine. He then had to leave 
to advise me of the matter, but he was back at the house by ten. 
From ten till after eleven he watched alone, but since then the 
house has been surrounded by my men, as I rather expected to 
find a gang instead of a single man. Whoever took the cask must 
therefore have done so between nine and ten.” 

Felix stared at his companion open-mouthed. 

“By jove!” he said. “You amaze me. How in thunder did 
you get on my track?” 

Burnley smiled. 

“It is our business to know these things,” he answered, “I 
knew all about how you got the cask away from the docks also.” 

“Well, thank Heaven! I told you the truth.” 

“It was the wise thing, Mr, Felix. I was able to check your 
statements as you went along, and I may say I felt really glad 

53 


54 


THE CASK 


when I heard you were going to be straight. At the same time, 
sir, you will realise that my orders prevent me being satisfied 
until I have seen the contents of the cask.’^ 

^‘You cannot be more anxious to recover it than I am, for I 
want my money.^’ 

“Naturally,’’ said Burnley, “but before we discuss the matter 
excuse me a moment. I want to give my fellows some in¬ 
structions.” 

He went out and called the men together. Sergeant Hastings 
and Constable Walker he retained, the rest he sent home in the 
car with instructions to return at eight o’clock in the morning. 
To Broughton he bade “Good night,” thanking him for his 
presence and help. 

When he re-entered the study Felix made up the fire and 
drew forward the whisky and cigars. 

“Thank you, I don’t mind if I do,” said the detective, sinking 
back into his chair. “Now, Mr. Felix, let us go over every one 
that knew about the cask being there.” 

“No one but myself and the carter, I assure you.” 

“Yourself, the carter, myself, and my man Walker-four to 
start with.” 

Felix smiled. 

“As far as I am concerned,” he said, “I left here, as you ap¬ 
pear, to know, almost immediately after the arrival of the cask 
and did not return till after one o’clock. All of that time I was 
in the company of Dr. William Martin and a number of mutual 
friends. So I can prove an alibi.” 

Burnley smiled also. 

“For me,” he said, “I am afraid you will have to take my word. 
The house was watched by Walker from ten o’clock, and we 
may take it as quite impossible that anything could have been 
done after that hour.” 

“There remains therefore the carter.” 

“There remains therefore the carter, and, as we must neglect 
no possibilities, I will ask you to give me the address of the 
cartage firm and any information about the man that you may 
have.” 

“John Lyons and Son, 127 Maddox Street, Lower Beechwood 
Road, was the contractor. The carter’s name, beyond Watty, I 


THE ART OF DETECTION 


55 


don’t know. He was a rather short, wiry chap, with a dark com¬ 
plexion and small black moustache.” 

“And now, Mr. Felix, can you not think of any others who 
may have known about the cask?” 

“There was no one,” replied the other with decision. 

“I’m afraid we can’t assume that. We certainly can’t be sure.” 

“Who could there be?” 

“Well, your French friend. How do you know he didn’t write 
to others beside you?” 

Felix sat up as if he had been shot. 

“By Jove! ” he cried, “it never entered my head. But it’s most 
unlikely—most unlikely.” 

“The whole thing’s most unlikely as far as that goes. Per¬ 
haps you are not aware that some one else was watching the 
house last evening?” 

“Good God, Inspector! What do you mean?” 

“Some one came to the lane shortly after your arrival with the 
cask. He waited and heard your conversation with your friend 
Martin. When you and your friend left, he followed you.” 

Felix passed his hand over his forehead. His face was pale. 

“This business is too much for me,” he said. “I wish to heaven 
I was out of it.” 

“Then help me to get you out of it. Think. Is there any one 
your friend knows that he might have written to?” 

Felix remained silent for some moments. 

“There is only one man,” he said at length in a hesitating 
voice, “that I know he is friendly with—a Mr. Percy Murgatroyd, 
a mining engineer who has an office in Westminster. But I don’t 
for one moment believe he had anything to say to it.” 

“Let me have his name and address, anyway.” 

“Four St. John’s Mansions, Victoria Street,” said Felix, on re¬ 
ferring to an address book. 

“You might write it down, if you please, and sign it.” 

Felix looked up with a smile. 

“You generally write notes yourself, I should have thoiight?” 

Burnley laughed. 

“You’re very quick, Mr. Felix. Of course it’s your hand¬ 
writing I want also. But I assure you it’s only routine. Now 
please, think. Is there any one else?” 


56 


THE CASK 


‘‘Not a living soul that I know of.’^ 

“Very well, Mr. Felix. I want to ask just one other question. 
Where did you stay in Paris?” 

“At the Hotel Continental.” 

“Thanks, that’s everything. And now, if you will allow me, 
I will take a few winks here in the chair till it gets light, and if 
you take my advice you will turn in.” 

Felix looked* at his watch. 

“Quarter-past three. Well, perhaps I shall. I’m only sorry 
I cannot offer you a bed as the house is absolutely empty, but 
if you will take a shakedown in the spare room-?” 

“No, no, thanks very much, I shall be all right here.” 

“As you wish. Good night.” 

When Felix had left, the Inspector sat on in his chair smoking 
his strong black cigars and thinking. He did not sleep, though 
he remained almost motionless, only at long intervals rousing 
up to light another cigar, and it was not until five had struck 
that he got up and looked out of the window. 

“Light at last,” he muttered, as he let himself quietly out of 
the back door into the yard. 

His first care was to make a thorough search in the yard and 
all the out-houses to ensure that the cask was really gone and 
not merely hidden in some other room. He was speedily satis¬ 
fied on this point. 

Since it was gone it was obvious that it must have been re¬ 
moved on a vehicle. His next point was to see how that vehicle 
got in, and if it had left any traces. And first as to the coach¬ 
house door. 

He picked up the padlock and examined it carefully. It was 
an ordinary old-fashioned four-inch one. The ring had been 
forced open while locked, the hole in the opening end through 
which the bolt passes being torn away. Marks showed that 
this had been done by inserting some kind of lever between the 
body of the lock and the staple on the door, through which 
the ring had been passed. The Inspector looked round for the 
lever, but could not find it. He therefore made a note to search 
for such a tool, as if it bore marks which would fit those on the 
door, its evidence might be important. 

There was next the question of the yard gate. This opened in- 



THE ART OF DETECTION 


57 


wards in two halves, and was fastened by a wooden beam hinged 
through the centre to the edge of one of the half gates. When 
it was turned vertically the gates were free, but when horizontally 
it engaged with brackets, one on each half gate, thus holding 
them closed. It could be fastened by a padlock, but none was 
fitted. The gate now stood closed and with the beam lying 
in the brackets. 

The Inspector took another note to find out if Mr, Felix had 
locked the beam, and then stood considering. It was clear the 
gate must have been closed from the inside after the vehicle had 
gone out. It must have been opened similarly on the latter^s 
arrival. Who had done this? Was Felix lying, and was there 
some one else in the house? 

At first it seemed likely, and then the Inspector thought of 
another way. Constable Walker had climbed the wall. Why 
should not the person who opened and shut the gate have also 
done so? The Inspector moved slowly along the wall scrutinising 
it and the ground alongside it. 

At first he saw nothing out of the common, but on retracing 
his steps he noticed, about three yards from the gate, two faint 
marks of mud or dust on the plaster. These were some six 
feet from the ground and about fifteen inches apart. On the 
soft soil which had filled in between the cobble stones in this 
disused part of the yard, about a foot from the wall and imme¬ 
diately under these marks, were two sharp-edged depressions, 
about two inches long by half an inch wide, arranged with their 
longer dimensions in line. Some one had clearly used a short 
ladder 

Inspector Burnley stood gazing at the marks. It struck him 
they were very far apart for a ladder. He measured the dis¬ 
tance between them and found it was fifteen inches. Ladders, 
he knew, are about twelve. 

Opening the gate he went to the outside of the wall. A grass 
plot ran alongside it here and the Inspector, stooping down, 
searched for corresponding marks. He was not disappointed. 
Two much deeper depressions showed where the ends of the 
ladder-like apparatus had sunk into the softer ground. These 
were not narrow like those in the yard, but rectangular and of 
heavier stuff, three inches by two, he estimated. He looked at 


58 


THE CASK 


the plaster on the wall above, but it was not till he examined 
it through his lens that he was satisfied it bore two faint scratches, 
corresponding in position to the muddy marks on the opposite 
side. 

A further thought struck him. Scooping up a little soil from 
the grass, he went again into the yard and compared with his 
lens the soil and the dry mud of the marks on the plaster. As 
he had anticipated, they were identical. 

He could now dimly reconstruct what had happened. Some 
one had placed a peculiar kind of ladder against the outside of 
the wall and presumably crossed it and opened the gate. The 
ladder had then been carried round and placed against the inside 
of the wall, but, probably by accident, opposite end up. The 
outside plaster was therefore clean but scraped, while that on 
the inside bore traces of the soil from the ends that had stood on 
the grass. In going out after barring the gate, he imagined the 
thief had pulled the ladder after him with a cord and passed 
it over the wall. 

The Inspector returned to the grass and made a further 
search. Here he found confirmation of his theory in a single 
impression of one of the legs of the ladder some two feet six 
out from the wall. That, he decided, had been caused by the 
climber throwing down the ladder when leaving the yard. He 
also found three footmarks, but, unfortunately, they were so 
blurred as to be valueless. 

He took out his notebook and made a sketch with accurate 
dimensions showing what he had learnt of the ladder—its length, 
width, and the shape of the legs at each end. Then bringing out 
the steps Felix had used to hang the chain blocks, he got on the 
wall. He examined the cement coping carefully, but without 
finding any further traces. 

The yard, being paved, no wheel or footmarks were visible, 
but Burnley spent quite a long time crossing and recrossing it, 
examining every foot of ground in the hope of finding some 
object that had been dropped. Once before, in just such another 
case, he had had the luck to discover a trouser button concealed 
under some leaves, a find which had led to penal servitude for two 
men. On this occasion he v/as disappointed, his search being en¬ 
tirely unsuccessful. 


THE ART OF DETECTION 


59 


He went out on the drive. Here were plenty of marks, but 
try as he would be could make nothing of them. The surface 
was covered thickly with fine gravel and only showed vague dis¬ 
turbances with no clear outlines. He began methodically to 
search the drive as he had done the yard. Every foot was 
examined in turn, Burnley gradually working down towards the 
gate. After he left the immediate neighbourhood of the house 
the gravel became much thinner, but the surface below was hard 
and bore no marks. He continued perseveringly until he got near 
the gate, and then he had some luck. 

In the lawn between the house and the road some work was 
in progress. It seemed to Burnley that a tennis or croquet 
ground was being made. From the corner of this ground a 
recently filled in cut ran across the drive and out to the hedge ad¬ 
joining the lane. Evidently a drain had just been laid. 





Where this drain passed under the drive the newly filled 
ground had slightly sunk. The hollow had been made up in 
the middle with gravel, but it happened that a small space on 
the lane side which had not gone down much was almost uncov- 






60 


THE CASK 


ered, the clay showing through. On this space were two clearly 
defined footmarks, pointing in the direction of the house. 

I have said two, but that is not strictly correct. One, that of a 
workman’s right boot with heavy hobnails, was complete in 
every detail, the clay holding the impression like plaster of 
Paris. The other, some distance in front and to the left and 
apparently the next step forward, was on the edge of the clay 
patch and showed the heel only, the sole having borne on the 
hard. 

Inspector Burnley’s eyes brightened. Never had be seen bet¬ 
ter impressions. Here was something tangible at last. He bent 
down to examine them more closely, then suddenly sprang to his 
feet with a gesture of annoyance. 

“Fool that I am,” he growled, “that’s only Watty bringing up 
the cask.” 

All the same he made a careful sketch of the marks, showing 
the distance between them and the size of the clay patch. Watty, 
he felt, sure, would be easy to find through the carting estab¬ 
lishment, when he could ascertain if the footsteps were his. If 
it should chance they were not, he had probably found a useful 
clue to the thief. For the convenience of the reader I reproduce 
the sketch. 

Burnley turned to go on, but his habit of thinking things out 
reasserted itself, and he stood gazing at the marks and slowly 
pondering. He was puzzled that the steps were so close to¬ 
gether. He took out his rule and re-measured the distance be¬ 
tween them. Nineteen inches from heel to heel. That was 
surely very close. A man of Watty’s size would normally take 
a step of at least thirty inches, and carters were generally long- 
stepping men. If he had put it at thirty-two or thirty-three 
inches he would probably be nearer the thing. Why, then, this 
short step? 

He looked and pondered. Then suddenly a new excitement 
came into his eyes and he bent swiftly down again. 

“Jove!” he murmured. “Jove! I nearly missed that! It 
makes it more like Watty, and, if so, it is conclusive! Absolutely 
conclusive!” His cheek was flushed and his eyes shone. 

“That probably settles that hash,” said the evidently delighted 
Inspector. He, nevertheless, continued his methodical search 


THE ART OF DETECTION 61 

down the remainder of the drive and out on the road, but with¬ 
out further result. 

He looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock. 

‘Two more points and I’m through,” he said to himself in a 
satisfied tone. 

He turned into the lane and walked slowly down it, scrutinising 
the roadway as he had done the drive. Three separate times 
he stopped to examine and measure footmarks, the third occa¬ 
sion being close by the little gate in the hedge. 

“Number one point done. Now for number two,” he mut¬ 
tered, and returning to the entrance gate stood for a moment 
looking up and down the road. Choosing the direction of Lon¬ 
don he walked for a quarter of a mile examining the gateways 
at either side, particularly those that led into fields. Apparently 
he did not find what he was in search of, for he retraced his 
steps to where a cross road led off to the left and continued his 
investigations along it. No better luck rewarding him, he tried 
a second cross road with the same result. There being no other 
cross roads, he returned to the lane and set out again, this time 
with his back to London. At the third gateway, one leading into 
a field on the left-hand side of the road, he stopped. 

It was an ordinary iron farm gate set in the rather high and 
thick hedge that bounded the road. The field was in grass and 
bore the usual building ground notice. Immediately aside the 
gate was a patch of low and swampy looking ground, and it was 
a number of fresh wheel marks crossing this patch that had 
caught the Inspector’s attention. 

The gate was not padlocked, and Burnley slipped the bolt back 
and entered the field. He examined the wheel marks with great 
care. They turned sharply at right angles on passing through 
the gate and led for a short distance along the side of the fence, 
stopping beside a tree which grew in the hedge. The hoof 
marks of a horse and the prints of a man’s hobnailed boots lead¬ 
ing over the same ground also came in for a close scrutiny. 

It was a contented looking Burnley that turned out of the field 
and walked back to St. Malo. He was well satisfied with his 
night’s work. He had firstly succeeded in getting a lot of in¬ 
formation out of Felix, and had further turned the latter into a 
friend anxious to help in the clearing up of the mystery. And 


THE CASK 


62 

though an unexpected check had arisen in the disappearance of 
the cask, he felt that with the information he had gained in the 
last three hours it would not be long before he had his hands on 
it again. 

As he approached the door Felix hailed him. 
saw you coming up,’^ he said. ^‘What luck?” 

‘‘Oh, not so bad, not so bad,” returned the other. ‘T^m just 
going back to the city.” 

“But the cask? What about it?” 

“I’ll start some inquiries that may lead to something.” 

“Oh, come now. Inspector, don’t be so infernally close. You 
might tell me what you’ve got in your mind, for I can see you 
have something.” 

Burnley laughed. 

“Oh, well,” he said, “I don’t mind. I’ll tell you what I found; 
you see what you make of it. 

“First, I found your coach-house padlock had been forced 
with a lever. There was nothing of the kind lying about, there¬ 
fore whatever theory we adopt must account for this lever’s pro¬ 
duction and disposal. It may quite likely bear marks correspond¬ 
ing to those on the padlock, which evidence might be valuable. 

“I then found that your visitor had arrived at the yard gate 
with a vehicle and had climbed the wall with the aid of a very 
peculiar ladder. He had, presumably, opened the gate and, after 
loading up the cask and drawing his vehicle out on to the drive, 
had closed the gate, leaving by the same means. There is 
evidence to show that he lifted the ladder over after him, prob¬ 
ably pulling it up by a cord. 

“I have said the ladder was a peculiar one. Here is a sketch 
of its shape so far as I could learn it. You will see that it is 
short and wide with the ends shaped differently. 

“I may remind you, in passing, how easy it would have been 
to load up the cask in spite of its weight. All that was necessary 
was to back the vehicle under it and lower out the differential 
pulley, a thing a man could do with one hand. 

“I examined the drive, but could find nothing except at one 
place where there was a most interesting pair of footmarks. You 
must really see these for yourself, and if you will stroll down 
now I will point them out. There is reason to believe they 


THE ART OF DETECTION 


63 


were made by Watty when he was approaching the house with 
the dray, but I cannot be positive as yet. 

^T then examined the lane and found in three places other 
footmarks by the same man. Finally, about 200 yards along 
the main road to the north, I found wheel marks leading into a 
grass field beside which he had walked. 

“Now, Mr. Felix, put all these things together. You will 
find them suggestive, but the footmarks on the drive are very 
nearly conclusive.” 

They had by this time reached the marks. 

“Here we are,” said Burnley. “What do you think of these?” 

“I don’t see anything very remarkable about them.” 

“Look again.” 

Felix shook his head. 

“See here, Mr. Felix. Stand out here on the gravel and put 
your right foot in line with this first print. Right. Now take 
a step forward as if you were walking to the house. Right. 
Does anything occur to you now?” 

“I can’t say that it does, unless it is that I have taken a very 
much longer step.” 

“But your step was of normal length.” 

“Well then, conversely, the unknown must have taken a short 
one.” 

“But did he? Assume it was Watty, as I think it must have 
been. You were with him and you saw him walking.” 

“Oh, come now. Inspector. How could I tell that? He didn’t 
normally take very short steps or I should have noticed it, but 
I couldn’t possibly say that he never took one.” 

“The point is not essential except that it calls attention to a 
peculiarity in the steps. But you must admit that while possible, 
it is quite unlikely he would take a step of that length—nineteen 
inches as against a probable thirty-three—without stumbling or 
making a false step.” 

“But how do you know he didn’t stumble?” 

“The impression, my dear sir, the impression. A false step 
or a stumble would have made a blurred mark or shown heavier 
on one side than the other. This print shows no slip and is 
evenly marked all over. It was clearly made quite normally.” 

“That seems reasonable, but I don’t see how it matters.” 


64 


THE CASK 


“To me it seems exceedingly suggestive though, I agree, not 
conclusive. But there is a nearly conclusive point, Mr. Felix. 
Look at those prints again.’' 

“They convey nothing to me.” 

“Compare them.” 

“Well, I can only compare the heels and there is not much 
difference between them, just as you would expect between the 
heels of a pair of boots.” Felix hesitated. “By Jove! Inspec¬ 
tor,” he went on, “I’ve got you at last. They’re the same marks. 
They were both made by the same foot.” 

“I think so, Mr. Felix; you have it now. Look here.” The 
Inspector stooped. “The fourth nail on the lefthand side is 
gone. That alone might be a coincidence, but if you compare 
the wear of the other nails and of the leather you will see they 
are the same beyond doubt.” 

He pointed to several little inequalities and inaccuracies in 
the outline, each of which appeared in both the marks. 

“But even if they are the same, I don’t know that I see what 
you get from that.” 

“Don’t you? Well, look here. How could Watty, if it was 
he, have produced them? Surely only in one of two ways. 
Firstly, he could have hopped on one foot. But there are three 
reasons why it is unlikely he did that. One is that he could 
hardly have done it without your noticing it. Another, that 
he could never have left so clear an impression in that way. 
The third, why should he hop? He simply wouldn’t do it. 
Therefore they were made in the second way. What was that, 
Mr. Felix?” 

Felix started. 

“I see what you’re after at last,” he said. “He walked up 
the drive twice.” 

“Of course he did. He walked up first with you to leave the 
cask. He walked up the second time with the empty dray to 
get it. If the impressions were really made by Watty that seems 
quite certain.” 

“But what on earth would Watty want with the cask? He 
could not know there was money in it.” 

“Probably not, but he must have guessed it held something 
valuable.” 


65 


THE ART OF DETECTION 

“Inspector, you overwhelm me with delight. If he took the 
cask it will surely be easy to trace it.” 

“It m^y or it may not. Question is, Are we sure he was 
acting for himself.” 

“Who else?” 

“What about your French friend? You don’t know whom 
he may have written to. You don’t know that all your actions 
with the cask may not have been watched.” 

“Oh, don’t make things worse than they are. Trace this 
Watty, won’t you?” 

“Of course we will, but it may not be so easy as you seem 
to think. At the same time there are two other points, both 
of which seem to show he was at least alone.” 

“Yes?” 

“The first is the watcher in the lane. That was almost cer¬ 
tainly the man who walked twice up your drive. I told you 
I found his footmarks at three points along it. One was near 
your little gate, close beside and pointing to the hedge, showing 
he was standing there. That was at the very point my man saw 
the watcher. 

“The second point concerns the horse and dray, and this is 
what leads me to believe the watcher was really Watty. If 
Watty was listening up the lane where were these? If he had 
a companion the latter would doubtless have walked them up 
and down the road. But if he was alone they must have been 
hidden somewhere while he made his investigations. I’ve been 
over most of the roads immediately surrounding, and on my 
fourth shot—towards the north, as I already told you—I found 
the place. It is fairly clear what took place. On leaving the 
cask he had evidently driven along the road until he found 
a gate that did not lead to a house. It was, as I said, that of 
a field. The marks there are unmistakable. He led the dray 
in behind the hedge and tied the horse to a tree. Then he came 
back to reconnoitre and heard you going out. He must have 
immediately returned and brought the dray, got the cask, and 
cleared out, and I imagine he was not many minutes gone before 
my man Walker returned. What do you think of that for a 
working theory?” 


66 


THE CASK 


“I think it^s conclusive. Absolutely conclusive. And that 
explains the queer-shaped ladder.’^ 

“Eh, what? What’s that you say?” 

“It must have been the gangway business for loading barrels 
on the dray. I saw one hooked on below the deck.” 

Burnley smote his thigh a mighty slap. 

“One for you, Mr. Felix,” he cried, “one for you, sir. I never 
thought of it. That points to Watty again.” 

“Inspector, let me congratulate you. You have got evidence 
that makes the thing a practical certainty.” 

“I think it’s a true bill. And now, sir, I must be getting back 
to the Yard.” Burnley hesitated and then went on: “I am ex¬ 
tremely sorry and I’m afraid you won’t like it, but I shall be 
straight with you and tell you I cannot—I simply dare not—leave 
you without some kind of police supervision until this cask busi¬ 
ness is cleared up. But I give you my word you shall not be 
annoyed.” 

Felix smiled. 

“That’s all right. You do your duty. The only thing I ask 
you is to let me know how you get on.” 

“I hope we’ll have some news for you later in the day.” 

It was now shortly after eight, and the car had arrived with 
the two men sent back the previous evening. Burnley gave them 
instructions about keeping a watch on Felix, then with Sergeant 
Hastings and Constable Walker he entered the car and was driven 
rapidly towards London, 


CHAPTER VII 


THE CASK AT LAST 

Inspector Burnley reached Scotland Yard, after dropping Con- 
table Walker at his station with remarks which made the heart 
of that observer glow with triumph and conjured up pictures of 
the day when he, Inspector Walker, would be one of the Yard’s 
most skilled and trusted officers. During the run citywards 
Burnley had thought out his plan of campaign, and he began 
operations by taking Sergeant Hastings to his office and getting 
down thedarge scale map. 

“Look here, Hastings,” he said, when he had explained his 
theories and found what he wanted. “Here’s John Lyons and 
Son, the carriers where Watty is employed, and from where 
the dray was hired. You see it’s quite a small place. Here close 
by is Goole Street, and here is the Goole Street Post Office. Got 
the lay of those? Very well. I want you, when you’ve had 
your breakfast, to go out there and get on the track of Watty. 
Find out first his full name and address, and wire or phone it 
at once. Then shadow him. I expect he has the cask, either 
at his own house or hidden somewhere, and he’ll lead you to it 
if you’re there to follow. Probably he won’t be able to do any¬ 
thing till night, but of that we can’t be certain. Don’t interfere 
or let him see you if possible, but of course don’t let him open 
the cask if he has not already done so, and under no circumstances 
allow him to take anything out of it. I will follow you out and 
we can settle further details. The Goole Street Post Office will 
be our headquarters, and you can advise me there at, say, the 
even hours of your whereabouts. Make yourself up as you think 
best and get to work as quickly as you can.” 

The sergeant saluted and withdrew. 

“That’s everything in the meantime, I think,” said Burnley 
to himself, as with a yawn he went home to breakfast. 

67 


68 


THE CASK 


When some time later Inspector Burnley emerged from his 
house, a change had come over his appearance. He seemed to 
have dropped his individuality as an alert and efficient repre¬ 
sentative of Scotland Yard and taken on that of a small shop¬ 
keeper or contractor in a small way of business. He was dressed 
in a rather shabby suit of checks, with baggy knees and draggled 
coat. His tie was woefully behind the fashion, his hat required 
brushing, and his boots were soiled and down at heel. A slight 
stoop and a slouching walk added to his almost slovenly appear¬ 
ance. 

He returned to the Yard and asked for messages. Already 
a telephone had come through from Sergeant Hastings: ^Tarty’s 
name, Walter Palmer, 71 Fennell Street, Lower Beechwood 
Road.’^ Having had a warrant made out for the “party’s” arrest, 
he got a police motor with plain-clothes driver, and left for the 
scene of operations. 

It was another glorious day. The sun shone out of a cloud¬ 
less sky of clearest blue. The air had the delightful freshness 
of early spring. Even the Inspector, with his mind full of casks 
and corpses, could not remain insensible of its charm. With a 
half sigh he thought of that garden in the country which it was 
one of his dearest dreams some day to achieve. The daffodils 
would now be in fine show and the primroses would be on, and 
such a lot of fascinating work would be waiting to be done among 
the later plants. . . . 

The car drew up as he had arranged at the end of Goole Street 
and the Inspector proceeded on foot. After a short walk he 
reached his objective, an archway at the end of a block of build¬ 
ings, above which was a faded signboard bearing the legend, 
“John Lyons and Son, Carriers.” Passing under the arch and 
following a short lane, he emerged in a yard with an open-fronted 
shed along one side and a stable big enough for eight or nine 
horses on the other. Four or five carts of different kinds were 
ranged under the shed roof. In the middle of the open space, 
with a horse yoked in, was a dray with brown sides, and Burnley, 
walking close to it, saw that under the paint the faint outline 
of white letters could be traced. A youngish man stood by the 
stable door and watched Burnley curiously, but without speak¬ 
ing. 


THE CASK AT LAST 


69 


“Boss about?” shouted Burnley. 

The youngish man pointed to the entrance. 

“In the office,” he replied. 

The Inspector turned and entered a small wooden building 
immediately inside the gate. A stout, elderly man with a gray 
beard, who was posting entries in a ledger, got up and came 
forward as he did so. 

“Morning,” said Burnley, “have you a dray for hire?” 

“Why, yes,” answered the stout man. “When do you want 
it and for how long?” 

“It’s this way,” returned Burnley. “I’m a painter, and I 
have always stuff to get to and from jobs. My own dray has 
broken down and I want one while it’s being repaired. I’ve 
asked a friend for the loan of his, but he may not be able to 
supply. It will take about four days to put it right.” 

“Then you wouldn’t want a horse and man?” 

“No, I should use my own.” 

“In that case, sir, I couldn’t agree, I fear. I never let my 
vehicles out without a man in charge.” 

“You’re right in that, of course, but I don’t want the man. 
I’ll tell you. If you let me have it I’ll make you a deposit of 
its full value. That will guarantee its safe return.” 

The stout man rubbed his cheek. 

“I might do that,” he said. “I’ve never done anything like 
it before, but I don’t see why I shouldn’t.” 

“Let’s have a look at it, anyway,” said Burnley. 

They went into the yard and approached the dray, Burnley 
going through the form of examining it thoroughly. 

“I have a lot of small kegs to handle,” he said, “as well as 
drums of paint. I should like to have that barrel loader fixed 
till I see if it’s narrow enough to carry them.” 

The stout man unhooked the loader and fixed it in position. 

“Too wide, I’m afraid,” said the Inspector, producing his rule. 
“I’ll just measure it.” 

It was fifteen inches wide and six feet six long. The sides 
were of six by two material, with iron-shod ends. One pair of 
ends, that resting on the ground, was chisel-pointed, the other 
carried the irons for hooking it on to the cart. The ends of 
these irons made rectangles about three inches by two. Burnley 


70 


THE CASK 


looked at the rectangles. Both were marked with soil. He was 
satisfied. The loader was what Watty had used to cross the 
wall. 

“That’ll do all right,” he said. “Let’s see, do you carry a 
box for hay or tools?” He opened it and rapidly scanned its 
contents. There was a halter, a nosebag, a small coil of rope, 
a cranked spanner, and some other small objects. He picked 
up the spanner. 

“This, I suppose, is for the axle caps?” he said, bending down 
and trying it. “I see it fits the nuts.” As he replaced it in 
the box he took a quick look at the handle. It bore two sets 
of scratches on opposite sides, and the Inspector felt positive 
these would fit the marks on the padlock and staple of the 
coach-house door, had he been able to try them. 

The stout man was regarding him with some displeasure. 

“You weren’t thinking of buying it?” he said. 

“No, thanks, but if you want a deposit before you let me take 
it, I want to be sure it won’t sit down with me.” 

They returned to the office, discussing rates. Finally these 
were arranged, and it was settled that when Burnley had seen 
his friend he was to telephone the result. 

The Inspector left the yard well pleased. He had now com¬ 
plete proof that his theories were correct and that Watty with 
that dray had really stolen the cask. 

Returning to Goole Street he called at the Post Office. It 
was ten minutes to twelve, and there being no message for him 
he stood waiting at the door. Five minutes had not elapsed 
before a street arab appeared, looked him up and down several 
times, and then said:— 

“Name o’ Burnley?” 

“That’s me,” returned the Inspector. “Got a note for me?” 

“The other cove said as ’ow you’ld give me a tanner.” 

“Here you are. Sonny,” said Burnley, and the sixpence and 
the note changed owners. The latter read:— 

“Party just about to go home for dinner. Am waiting on 
road south of carrier’s yard.” 

Burnley walked to where he had left the motor and getting 
in, was driven to the place mentioned. At a sign from him 
the driver drew the car to the side of the road, stopping his 


THE CASK AT LAST 


71 


engine at the same time. Jumping down, he opened the bonnet 
and bent over the engine. Any one looking on would have seen 
that a small breakdown had taken place. 

A tall, untidy looking man, in threadbare clothes and smoking 
a short clay, lounged up to the car with his hands in his pockets. 
Burnley spoke softly without looking round,— 

“I want to arrest him, Hastings. Point him out when you 
see him.^’ 

“He’ll pass this way going for his dinner in less than five 
minutes.” 

“Right.” 

The loafer moved forward and idly watched the repairs to the 
engine. Suddenly he stepped back. 

“That’s him,” he whispered. 

Burnley looked out through the back window of the car and 
saw a rather short, wiry man coming down the street, dressed in 
blue dungarees and wearing a gray woollen muffler. As he 
reached the car, the Inspector stepped quickly out and touched 
him on the shoulder, while the loafer and the driver closed 
round. 

“Walter Palmer, I am an inspector from Scotland Yard. I 
arrest you on a charge of stealing a cask. I warn you anything 
you say may be used against you. Better come quietly, you 
see there are three of us.” 

Before the dumbfounded man could realise what was happen¬ 
ing, a pair of handcuffs had snapped on his wrists and he was 
being pushed in the direction of the car. 

“All right, boss. I’ll come,” he said as he got in, followed by 
Burnley and Hastings. The driver started his engine and the 
car slipped quietly down the road. The whole affair had not 
occupied twenty seconds and hardly one of the passers-by had 
realised what was taking place. 

“I’m afraid, Palmer, this is a serious matter,” began Burnley. 
“Stealing the cask is one thing, but breaking into a man’s yard 
at night is another. That’s burglary and it will mean seven 
years at least.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking abaht, boss,” answered the 
prisoner hoarsely, licking his dry lips, “I don’t know of no cask.’* 

“Now, man, don’t make things worse by lying. We know 


72 


THE CASK 


the whole thing. Your only chance is to make a clean breast 
of it.’’ 

Palmer’s face grew paler but he did not reply. 

“We know how you brought out the cask to Mr. Felix’s about 
eight o’clock last night, and how, when you had left it there, 
you thought you’d go back and see what chances there were 
of getting hold of it again. We know how you hid the dray 
in a field close by, and then went back down the lane and waited 
to see if anything would turn up. We know how you learnt 
the house was empty and that after Mr. Felix left you brought 
the dray back. We know all about your getting over the wall 
with the barrel loader, and forcing the coach-house door with 
the wheel-cap wrench. You see, we know the whole thing, so 
there’s not the slightest use in your pretending ignorance.” 

During this recital the prisoner’s face had grown paler and 
paler until it was now ghastly. His jaw had dropped and great 
drops of sweat rolled down his forehead. Still he said nothing. 

Burnley saw he had produced his impression and leant for¬ 
ward and tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Look here. Palmer,” he said. “If you go into court nothing 
on earth can save you. It’ll be penal servitude for at least five, 
and probably seven, years. But I’m going to offer you a sporting 
chance if you like to take it.” The man’s eyes fixed themselves 
with painful intentness on the speaker’s face. “The police can 
only act if Mr. Felix prosecutes. But what Mr. Felix wants is 
the cask. If you return the cask at once, unopened, Mr. Felix 
might—I don’t say he will—^but he might be induced to let you 
off. What do you say?” 

At last the prisoner’s self-control went. He threw up his 
manacled hands with a gesture of despair. 

“My Gawd!” he cried hoarsely. “I can’t.” 

The Inspector jumped. 

“Can’t?” he cried sharply. “What’s that? Can’t? What do 
you mean?” 

“I don’t know where it is. I don’t, I swear. See ’ere, boss,” 
the words now poured out of his mouth in a rapid stream, “I’ll 
tell you the truth, I will, swelp me Gawd. Listen to me.” 

They had reached the City and were rapidly approaching 
Scotland Yard. The Inspector gave instructions for the car to 


♦ THE CASK AT LAST 73 

be turned and run slowly through the quieter streets. Then he 
bent over to the now almost frantic man. 

‘Tull yourself together and tell me your story. Let’s have the 
whole of it without keeping anything back, and remember the 
truth is your only chance.” 

Palmer’s statement, divested of its cockney slang and pic¬ 
turesque imbellishments was as follows:— 

‘T suppose you know all about the way Mr. Felix hired the 
dray,” began Palmer, “and painted it in the shed, and about my 
mate Jim Brown and me?” The Inspector nodded, and he con¬ 
tinued: “Then I don’t need to tell you all that part of it, only 
that Jim and I from the first were suspicious that there was 
something crooked about the whole business. Mr. Felix told 
us he had a bet on that he could get the cask away without 
being caught, but we didn’t believe that, we thought he was 
out to steal it. Then when he told us that stevedore fellow was 
to be fixed so he couldn’t follow us, we were both quite sure it was 
a do. Then you know how Felix and I left Jim and him in the 
bar and went back to the shed and repainted the dray? You 
know all that?” 

“I know,” said Burnley. 

“We waited in the shed till it was getting on towards dusk, 
and then we got the cask out to Felix’s, and left it swinging in 
a set of chain blocks in an out-house. Well, sir, I asked more 
than twice the pay he’d promised, and when he gave it without 
a word I was certain he was afraid of me. I thought, ‘There’s 
some secret about that cask and he’Id be willing to pay to have 
it kept quiet.’ And then it occurred to me that if I could get 
hold of it, I could charge him my own price for its return. I 
didn’t mean to steal it. I didn’t, sir, honest. I only meant to 
keep it for a day or two till he’d be willing to pay a reward.” 

The man paused. 

“Well, you know. Palmer, blackmail is not much better than 
theft,” said Burnley. 

“I’m only telling you the truth, sir; that’s the way it was. 
I thought I’d try and find out what part of the house Felix slept 
in and if there were others about, so as to see what chances 
there’d be of getting the dray up again without being heard, 
so I hid it in a field as you know, and went up the lane. I don’t 


74 


THE CASK 


think I would have done anything only for Felix going away and 
saying the house was empty. Then it came over me so strongly 
how easy everything would be with the coast clear and the cask 
swinging in the chain blocks. The temptation was too strong 
for me, and I went back and- got in as you said. I suppose you 
must have been there all the time watching me?” 

The Inspector did not reply, and Palmer went on:— 

^Tt happened that for some time I had been going to change 
my house. There was an empty one close by I thought would 
suit. I’d got the key on Saturday and looked over it on Sunday. 
The key was still in my pocket, for I hadn’t had time to return it. 

‘‘I intended to drive the dray down the lane behind this house 
and get the cask off it, then run round and get in from the front, 
open the yard door, roll the cask in, lock up again and return 
the dray to the yard. I would make an excuse with the landlord 
to keep the key for a day or two till I could get the money out 
of Felix. 

‘Well, sir, I drove down the lane to the back of the house, 
and then a thing happened that I’d never foreseen. I couldn’t 
get the cask down. It was too heavy. I put my shoulder to 
it, and tried my utmost to get it over on its side, but I couldn’t 
budge it. 

‘T worked till the sweat was running down me, using any¬ 
thing I could find for a lever, but it was no good, it wouldn’t 
move. I went over all my friends in my mind to see if there 
was ony one I could get to help, but there was no one close by 
that I thought would come in, and I was afraid to put myself 
in any one’s power that I wasn’t sure of. I believed Jim would 
be all right, but he lived two miles away and I did not want to 
go for him for I was late enough as it was. 

“In the end I could think of no other way, and I locked the 
house and drove the dray to Jim’s. Here I met with another 
disappointment. Jim had gone out about an hour before, and 
his wife didn’t know where he was or when he’d be in. 

“I cursed my luck. I was ten times more anxious now to get 
rid of the cask than I had been before to get hold of it. And 
then I thought I saw a way out. I would drive back to the 
yard, leave the cask there on the dray all night, get hold of Jim 


THE CASK AT LAST 


75 


early in the morning, and with his help take the cask back to 
the empty house. If any questions were asked I would say Felix 
had given me instructions to leave it overnight in the yard and 
deliver it next morning to a certain address. I should hand over 
ten shillings and say he had sent this for the job. 

‘T drove to the yard, and then everything went wrong. First, 
the boss was there himself, and in a vile temper. I didn’t know 
till afterwards, but one of our carts had been run into by a 
motor lorry earlier in the evening and a lot of damage done and 
that had upset him. 

'What’s this thing you’ve got?’ he said, when he saw the 
cask. 

'T told him, and added that Felix had asked me to take it 
on in the morning, handing him the ten shillings. 

“ ‘Where is it to go?’ he asked. 

“Now this was a puzzler, for I hadn’t expected there’d be any 
one there to ask questions and I had no answer ready. So I 
made up an address. I chose a big street of shops and ware¬ 
houses about four miles away—too far for the boss to know 
much about it, and I tacked on an imaginary number. 

“ ‘133 Little George Street,’ I answered. 

“The boss took a bit of chalk and wrote the address on the 
blackboard we have for such notes. Then he turned back to 
the broken cart, and I unyoked the horse from the dray and went 
home. 

“I was very annoyed by the turn things had taken, but I 
thought that after all it would not make much difference having 
given the address. I could go to the empty house in the morning 
as I had arranged. 

“I was early over at Jim’s next morning and told him the story. 
He was real mad at first and cursed me for all kinds of a fool. 
I kept on explaining how safe it was, for we were both sure Felix 
couldn’t call in the police or make a fuss. At last he agreed to 
stand in with me, and it was arranged that he would go direct to 
the empty house, while I followed with the cask. He would 
explain his not turning up at the yard by saying he was ill. 

“The boss was seldom in when we arrived, but he was there 
this morning, and his temper was no better. 


76 


THE CASK 


“ ‘Here, you,’ he called, when he saw me, ‘I thought you were 
never coming. Get the big gray yoked into the box cart and 
get away to this address’—^he handed me a paper—‘to shift a 
piano.’ 

“ ‘But the cask,’ I stammered. 

“ ‘You mind your own business and do what you’re told. I’ve 
settled about that.” 

“I looked round. The dray was gone, and whether he’d sent 
it back to Felix or to the address I’d given, I didn’t know. 

“I cursed the whole affair bitterly, particularly when I thought 
of Jim waiting at the house. But there was nothing I could do, 
and I yoked the box cart and left. I went round by the house 
and told Jim, and I never saw a madder man in all my life. 
I could make nothing of him, so I left him and did the piano 
job. I just got back to the yard and was going for dinner 
when you nabbed me.” 

When the prisoner had mentioned the address in Little George 
Street, Burnley had given a rapid order to the driver, and the 
statement had only just been finished when the car turned into 
the street. 

“No. 133, you said?” 

“That’s it, sir.” 

No. 133 was a large hardware shop. Burnley saw the pro¬ 
prietor. 

“Yes,” the latter said, “we have the cask, and I may say I 
was very annoyed with my foreman for taking it in without an 
advice note or something in writing. You can have it at once 
on your satisfying me you really are from Scotland Yard.” 

His doubts were quickly set at rest, and he led the party to his 
yard. 

“Is that it. Palmer?” asked Burnley. 

“That’s it, sir, right enough.” 

“Good. Hastings, you remain here with it till I send a dray. 
Get it loaded up and see it yourself to the Yard. You can then 
go off duty. You, Palmer, come with me.” 

Re-entering the car, Burnley and his prisoner were driven to 
the same destination, where the latter was handed over to another 
official. 


THE CASK AT LAST 


77 


‘Tf Mr. Felix will consent not to prosecute/’ said Burnley 
as the man was being led off, “you’ll get out at once.” 

The Inspector waited about till the dray arrived, and, when 
he had seen with his own eyes that the cask was really there, 
he walked to his accustomed restaurant and sat down to enjoy 
a long deferred meal. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE OPENING OF THE CASK 

It was getting on towards five when Inspector Burnley, like a 
giant refreshed with wine, emerged once more upon the street. 
Calling a taxi, he gave the address of St. Malo, Great North 
Road. 

^^Now for friend Felix,” he thought, as he lit a cigar. He was 
tired and he lay back on the cushions, enjoying the relaxation 
as the car slipped dexterously through the traffic. Familiar as 
he was with every phase of London life, he never wearied of the 
panorama of the streets, the ceaseless movement, the kaleido¬ 
scopic colours. The sights of the pavement, the sound of pneus 
upon asphalt, the very smell of burnt petrol—each appealed to 
him as part of the alluring whole he loved. 

They passed through the Haymarket and along Shaftesbury 
Avenue, turned up Tottenham Court Road, and through Kentish 
Town out on the Great North Road. Here the traffic was less 
dense and they made better speed. Burnley removed his hat 
and allowed the cool air to blow on his head. His case was 
going well. He was content. 

Nearly an hour had passed before he rang the bell at St. Malo. 
Felix opened the door, the visage of Sergeant Kelvin, his watch¬ 
dog, appearing in the gloom at the back of the hall. 

“What luck, Inspector?” he cried, when he recognised his 
visitor. 

“We’ve got it, Mr. Felix. Foimd it a couple of hours ago. 
I’ve got a taxi here, and, if convenient for you, we’ll go right 
in and open the thing at once.” 

“Right. I’m sure I am ready.” 

“You come along too, Kelvin,” said the Inspector to his subor¬ 
dinate, and when Felix had got his hat and coat the three men 
walked up to the taxi. 


78 


THE OPENING OF THE CASK 


79 


‘‘Scotland Yard,” called Burnley, and the car swung round 
and started citywards. 

As they sped swiftly along, the Inspector gave an account of 
his day to his companion. The latter was restless and excited, 
and admitted he would be glad to get the business over. He 
was anxious about the money, as it happened that a sum of 
£1000 would just enable him to meet a mortgage, which other¬ 
wise would press rather heavily upon him. Burnley looked up 
sharply when he heard this. 

“Did your French friend know that?” he asked. 

“Le Gautier? No, I’m sure he did not.” 

“If you take my advice, Mr. Felix, you won’t count too much 
on the cask. Indeed, you should prepare yourself for some¬ 
thing unpleasant.” 

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Felix. “You hinted that 
you thought the cask contained something besides the money. 
What was it?” 

“I’m sorry I can’t answer you. The thing was only a suspi¬ 
cion, and we shall learn the truth in so short a time it’s not 
worth discussion.” 

Burnley having to make a call on some other business, they 
returned by a different route, coming down to the river near 
London Bridge. Already the day was drawing in, and yellow 
spots of light began to gleam in the windows of the palace hotels, 
and from the murky buildings on the south side. On the com¬ 
paratively deserted Embankment they made good speed, and 
Big Ben was chiming the quarter after seven as they swung into 
the Yard. 

“I’ll see if the Chief’s in,” said Burnley, as they reached his 
office. “He wanted to see the cask opened.” 

The great man was getting ready to go home, but decided to 
wait on seeing the Inspector. He greeted Felix politely. 

“Singular set of circumstances, Mr. Felix,” he said, as they 
shook hands. “I trust they will remain only that.” 

“You’re all very mysterious about it,” returned Felix. “1 
have been trying to get a hint of the Inspector’s suspicions but 
he won’t commit himself.” 

“We shall see now in a moment.” 

Headed by Burnley, they passed along a corridor, down some 


80 


THE CASK 


steps and through other passages, until they emerged in a small 
open yard entirely surrounded by a high, window-pierced build¬ 
ing. Apparently in the daytime it acted as a light well, but 
now in the growing dusk it was itself illuminated by a powerful 
arc lamp which threw an intense beam over every part of the 
granolithic floor. In the centre stood the cask, on end, with 
the damaged stave up. 

The little group numbered five. There were the Chief, Felix, 
Burnley, Sergeant Kelvin, and another nondescript looking man. 
Burnley stepped forward. 

‘‘This cask is so exceedingly strongly made,’^ he said, “IVe 
got a carpenter to open it. I suppose he may begin?” 

The Chief nodded, and the nondescript man advancing set 
to work and soon lifted out the pieces of wood from the top. 
He held one up. 

“You see, gentlemen, it’s nearly two inches thick, more than 
twice as heavy as an ordinary wine cask.” 

“That’ll do, carpenter. I’ll call you if I want you again,” 
said Burnley, and the man, touching his cap, promptly dis¬ 
appeared. 

The four men drew closer. The cask was filled up to the top 
with sawdust. Burnley began removing it, sifting it carefully 
through his fingers. 

“Here’s the first,” he said, as he laid a sovereign on the floor 
to one side. “And another! And another!” 

The sovereigns began to grow into a tiny pile. 

“There’s some very uneven-shaped thing here,” he said again. 
“About the centre the sawdust is not half an inch thick, but 
it goes down deep round the sides. Lend a hand, Kelvin, but 
be careful and don’t use force.” 

The unpacking continued. Handful after handful of dust was 
taken out and, after being sifted, was placed in a heap beside 
the sovereigns. As they got deeper the operation became slower, 
the spaces from which the tightly packed dust was removed 
growing narrower and harder to get at. Fewer sovereigns were 
found, suggesting that these had been placed at the top of the 
cask after the remainder of the contents had been packed. 

“All the sawdust we can get at is out now,” Burnley said 


THE OPENING OF THE CASK 


81 


presently, and then, in a lower tone, ‘T’m afraid it’s a body. 
I’ve come on a hand.” 

“A hand? A body?” cried Felix, his face paling and an 
expression of fear growing in his eyes. The Chief moved closer 
to him as the others bent over the cask. 

The two men worked silently for some moments and then 
Burnley spoke again,— 

“Lift now. Carefully does it.” 

They stooped again over the cask and, with a sudden effort 
lifted out a paper-covered object and laid it reverently on the 
ground. A sharp “My God!” burst from Felix, and even the 
case-hardened Chief drew in his breath quickly. 

It was the body of a woman, the head and shoulders being 
wrapped round with sheets of brown paper. It lay all bunched 
together as it had done in the cask. One dainty hand, with 
slim, tapered fingers protruded from the paper, and stuck stiffly 
upwards beside the rounded shoulder. 

The men stopped and stood motionless looking down at the 
still form. Felix was standing rigid, his face blanched, his eyes 
protruding, horror stamped on his features. The Chief spoke in 
a low tone,— 

“Take off the paper.” 

Burnley caught the loose corner and gently removed it. As 
it came away the figure within became revealed to the onlookers. 

The body was that of a youngish woman, elegantly clad in 
an evening gown of pale pink cut low round the throat and 
shoulders, and trimmed with old lace. Masses of dark hair 
were coiled round the small head. On the fingers the glint of 
precious stones caught the light. The feet were cased in silk 
stockings, but no shoes. Pinned to the dress was an envelope. 

But it was on the face and neck the gaze of the men was 
riveted. Once she had clearly been beautiful, but now the face 
was terribly black and swollen. The dark eyes were open and 
protruding, and held an expression of deadly horror and fear. 
The lips were drawn back showing the white, even teeth. And 
below, on the throat were two discoloured bruises, side by side,, 
round marks close to the windpipe, thumb-prints of the animal 
who had squeezed out that life with relentless and merciless 
hands. 


82 


THE CASK 


When the paper was removed from the dead face, the eyes of 
Felix seemed to start literally out of his head. 

^‘God!’^ he shrieked in a thin, shrill tone. ^Tt’s Annette!’^ 
He stood for a moment, waved his hands convulsively, and then, 
slowly turning, pitched forward insensible on the floor. 

The chief caught him before his head touched the ground. 

^‘Lend a hand here,’’ he called. 

Burnley and the sergeant sprang forward and, lifting the 
inanimate form, bore it into an adjoining room and laid it 
gently on the floor. 

“Doctor,” said the Chief shortly, and the sergeant hurried off. 

“Bad business, this,” resumed the Chief. “He didn’t know 
what was coming?” 

“I don’t think so, sir. My impression has been all through 
that he was being fooled by this Frenchman, whoever he is.” 

“It’s murder now, an 3 rway. You’ll have to go to Paris, Burn¬ 
ley, and look into it.” 

“Yes, sir, very good.” He looked at his watch. “It’s eight 
o’clock. I shall hardly be able to go to-night. I shall have to 
take the cask and the clothing, and get some photos and measure¬ 
ments of the corpse and hear the result of the medical exam¬ 
ination.” 

“To-morrow will be time enough, but I’d go by the nine o’clock 
train. I’ll give you a personal note to Chauvet, the chief of the 
Paris police. You speak French, I think?” 

“Enough to get on, sir.” 

“You shouldn’t have much difficulty, I think. The Paris men 
are bound to know if there are any recent disappearances, and 
if not you have the cask and the clothing to fall back on.” 

“Yes, sir, they should be a help.” 

Footsteps in the corridor announced the arrival of the doctor. 
With a hasty greeting to the Chief, he turned to the unconscious 
man. 

“What happened to him?” he asked. 

“He has had a shock,” answered the Chief, explaining in a 
few words what had occurred. 

“He’ll have to be removed to hospital at once. Better get a 
stretcher.” 

The sergeant disappeared again and in a few seconds returned 


THE OPENING OF THE CASK 83 

with the apparatus and another man. Felix was lifted on to 
it and borne off. 

‘‘Doctor,” said the Chief, as the former was about to follow, 
“as soon as you are through with him I wish you’ld make an 
examination of the woman’s body. It seems fairly clear what 
happened to her, but it would be better to have a post-mortem. 
Poison may have been used also. Burnley, here, is going to 
Paris by the nine o’clock in the morning to make inquiries, and 
he will want a copy of your report with him.” 

“I shall have it ready,” said the doctor as, with a bow, he 
hurried after his patient. 

“Now, let’s have a look at that letter.” 

They returned to the courtyard and Burnley unpinned the 
envelope from the dead woman’s gown. It was unaddressed, 
but the Chief slit it open and drew out a sheet of folded paper. 
It bore a single line of typing:— 

“Your £50 loan returned herewith with £2 10s. od. interest.” 

That was all. No date, address, salutation, or signature. 
Nothing to indicate who had sent it, or whose 'vfas the body that 
had accompanied it. 

“Allow me, sir,” said Burnley. 

He took the paper and scrutinised it carefully. Then he held 
it up to the light. 

“This is from Le Gautier also,” he continued. “See the 
watermark. It is the same paper as Felix’s letter. Look also 
at the typing. Here are the crooked n’s and r’s, the defective 
I’s and the t’s and e’s below alignment. It was typed on the 
same machine.” 

“Looks like it certainly.” Then, after a pause: “Come to 
my room for that letter to M. Chauvet.” 

They traversed the corridors and the Inspector got his in¬ 
troduction to the Paris police. Then returning to the little yard, 
he began the preparations for his journey. 

First he picked up and counted the money. There was £31 
10s. in English gold and, having made a note of the amount, he 
slipped it into his pocket as a precaution against chance passers- 
by. With the £21 handed by Broughton to Mr. Avery, this 


84 


THE CASK 


made the £52 10s. referred to in the typewritten slip. Then he 
had the body moved to the dissecting-room and photographed 
from several points of view, after which it was stripped by a 
female assistant. The clothes he went through with great care, 
examining every inch of the material for maker’s names, initials, 
or other marks. Only on the delicate cambric handkerchief was 
his search rewarded, a small A. B. being embroidered amid the 
tracery of one corner. Having attached a label to each garment 
separately, as well as to the rings from the fingers and a diamond 
comb from the luxuriant hair, he packed them carefully in a 
small portmanteau, ready for transport to France. 

Sending for the carpenter, he had the end boards of the cask 
replaced, and the whole thing wrapped in sacking and corded. 
Labelling it to himself at the Gare du Nord, he had it despatched 
to Charing Cross with instructions to get it away without delay. 

It was past ten when his preparations were complete, and he 
was not sorry when he was free to go home to supper and bed. 


PART II—PARIS 









CHAPTER IX 


M. LE CHEF DE LA SURETE 

At 9.0 a.m. next morning the Continental express moved slowly 
out of Charing Cross station, bearing in the corner of a first-class 
smoking compartment, Inspector Burnley. The glorious weather 
of the past few days had not held, and the sky was clouded over, 
giving a promise of rain. The river showed dark and gloomy 
as they drew over it, and the houses on the south side had resumed 
their normal dull and grimy appearance. A gentle breeze blew 
from the south-west, and Burnley, who was a bad sailor, hoped 
it would not be very much worse at Dover. He lit one of his 
strong-smelling cigars and puffed at it thoughtfully as the train 
ran with ever-increasing speed through the extraordinary tangle 
of lines south of London Bridge. 

He was glad to be taking this journey. He liked Paris and 
he had not been there for four years, not indeed since the great 
Marcelle murder case, which attracted so much attention in both 
countries. M. Lefarge, the genial French detective with whom 
he had then collaborated had become a real friend and he hoped 
to run across him again. 

They had reached the outer suburbs and occasional fields began 
to replace the lines of little villas which lie closer to the city. 
He watched the flying objects idly for a few minutes, and then 
with a little sigh turned his attention to his case, as a barrister 
makes up his brief before going into court. 

He considered first his object in making the journey. He 
had to find out who the murdered woman was, if she was mur¬ 
dered, though there appeared little doubt about that. He had 
to discover and get convicting evidence against the murderer, 
and lastly, he had to learn the explanation of the extraordinary 
business of the cask. 

He then reviewed the data he already had, turning first to 
the medical report which up till then he had not had an oppor- 

87 


88 


THE CASK 


tunity of reading. There was first a note about Felix. That 
unhappy man was entirely prostrated from the shock and his life 
was in serious danger. 

The Inspector had already known this, for he had gone to 
the ward before seven that morning in the hope of getting a 
statement from the sick man, only to find him semi-conscious 
and delirious. The identity of the dead woman could not, there¬ 
fore, he ascertained from him. He, Burnley, must rely on his 
own efforts. 

The report then dealt with the woman. She was aged about 
five-and-twenty, five feet seven in height and apparently grace¬ 
fully built, and weighing a little over eight stone. She had dark 
hair of great length and luxuriance, and eyes with long lashes 
and delicately pencilled brows. Her mouth was small and regular, 
her nose slightly retrousse and her face a true oval. She had a 
broad, low forehead, and her complexion appeared to have been 
very clear, though dark. There was no distinguishing mark on 
the body. 

^‘Surely,” thought Burnley, “with such a description it should 
be easy to identify her.’’ 

The report continued:— 

“There are ten marks about her neck, apparently finger marks. 
Of these eight are together at the back of the neck and not 
strongly marked. The remaining two are situated in front of 
the throat, close together and one on each side of the windpipe. 
The skin at these points is much bruised and blackened, and the 
pressure must therefore have been very great. 

“It seemed clear the marks were caused by some individual 
standing in front of her and squeezing her throat with both 
hands, the thumbs on the windpipe and the fingers round the 
neck. From the strength necessary to produce such bruises, it 
looks as if this individual were a man. 

“An autopsy revealed the fact that all the organs were sound, 
and there was no trace of poison or other cause of death. The 
conclusion is therefore unavoidable that the woman was mur¬ 
dered by strangulation. She appears to have been dead about a 
week or slightly longer.” 

“That’s definite, anyway,” mused Burnley. “Let’s see what 
else we have.” 


89 


M. LE CHEF DE LA StJRfiXE 

There was the woman’s rank in life. She was clearly well off 
if not rich, and probably well born. Her fingers suggested culture; 
they were those of the artist or musician. The wedding ring 
on her right hand showed that she was married and living in 
France. “Surely,” thought the Inspector again, “the Chief is 
right. It would be impossible for a woman df this kind to dis¬ 
appear withcut the knowledge of the French police. My job will 
be done when I have seen them.” 

But supposing they did not know. What then? 

There was first of all the letter to Felix. The signatory, M. 
Le Gautier, assuming such a man existed, should be able to give 
a clue. The waiters in the Toisson d’Or Cafe might know some¬ 
thing. The typewriter with the defective letters was surely 
traceable. 

The clothes in which the corpse was dressed suggested another 
line of attack. Inquiry at the leading Paris shops could hardly 
fail to produce information. And if not there were the rings and 
the diamond comb. These would surely lead to something. 

Then there was the cask. It was a specially made one, and 
must surely have been used for a very special purpose. Inquiry 
from the firm whose label it had borne could hardly be fruitless. 

And lastly, if all these failed, there was left advertisment. 
A judiciously worded notice with a reward for information of 
identity would almost certainly draw. Burnley felt he was well 
supplied with clues. Many and many a thorny problem he had 
solved with far less to go on. 

He continued turning the matter over in his mind in his slow, 
painstaking way until a sudden plunge into a tunnel and a grind¬ 
ing of brakes warned him they were coming into Dover. 

The crossing was calm and uneventful. Before they passed 
between the twin piers at Calais the sun had burst out, the clouds 
were thinning, and blue sky showing in the distance. 

They made a good run to Paris, stopping only at Amiens, and 
at 5.45 precisely drew slowly into the vast, echoing vault of the 
Gare du Nord. Calling a taxi, the Inspector drove to a small 
private hotel he usually patronised in the rue Castiglione. Hav¬ 
ing secured his room, he re-entered the taxi and went to the 
Surete, the Scotland Yard of Paris. 

He inquired for M. Chauvet, sending in his letter of intro- 


90 


THE CASK 


duction. The Chief was in and disengaged, and after a few 
minutes delay Inspector Burnley was ushered into his presence. 

M. Chauvet, Chef de la Surete, was a small, elderly man with 
a dark, pointed beard, gold-rimmed glasses, and an exceedingly 
polite manner. 

‘‘Sit down, Mr. Burnley,’’ he said in excellent English, as they 
shook hands. “I think we have had the pleasure of co-operating 
with you before?” 

Burnley reminded him of the Marcelle murder case. 

“Ah, of course, I remember. And now you are bringing us 
another of the same kind. Is it not so?” 

“Yes, sir, and a rather puzzling one also. But I am in hopes 
we have enough information to clear it up quickly.” 

“Good, I hope you have. Please let me have, in a word or 
two, the briefest outline, then I shall ask you to go over it again 
in detail.” 

Burnley complied, explaining in half a dozen sentences the 
gist of the case. 

“The circumstances are certainly singular,” said the Chief. 
“Let me think whom I shall put in charge of it with you. Dupont 
is perhaps the best man, but he is engaged on that burglary at 
Chartres.” He looked up a card index. “Of those disengaged, 
the best perhaps are Cambon, Lefarge, and Bontemps. All good 
men.” 

He stretched out his hand to the desk telephone. 

“Pardon me, sir,” said Burnley. “I don’t want to make sug¬ 
gestions or interfere in what is not my business, but I had the 
pleasure of co-operating with M. Lefarge in the Marcelle case, 
and if it was quite the same I should very much like to work 
with him again.” 

“But excellent, monsieur. I hear you say that with much 
pleasure.” 

He lifted his desk telephone, pressing one of the many buttons 
on its stand. 

“Ask M. Lefarge to come here at once.” 

In a few seconds a tall, clean-shaven, rather English looking 
man entered. 

“Ah, Lefarge,” said the Chief. “Here is a friend of yours.” 

The two detectives shook hands warmly. 


91 


M. LE CHEF DE LA StlRfiXE 

has brought us another murder mystery and very interest¬ 
ing it sounds. Now, Mr. Burnley, perhaps you would let us hear 
your story in detail.” 

The Inspector nodded, and beginning at the sending of the 
clerk Tom Broughton to check the consignment of wine at the 
Rouen steamer, he related all the strange events that had taken 
place, the discovery of the cask, and the suspicions aroused, the 
forged note, the removal of the cask, the getting rid of Harkness, 
the tracing and second disappearance of the cask, its ultimate 
recovery, its sinister contents, and finally, a list of the points 
which might yield clues if followed up. The two men listened 
intently, but without interrupting. After he had finished they sat 
silently in thought. 

^Tn one point I do not quite follow you, Mr. Burnley,” said 
the Chief at last. “You appear to assume that this murdered 
woman was a Parisienne. But what are your reasons for that?” 

“The cask came from Paris. That is certain, as you will see 
from the steamship^s documents. Then the letter to Felix pur¬ 
ports to be from a Parisian, a M. Le Gautier, and both it and 
the note pinned to the body were typed on French paper. 
Further, the label on the cask bore the name of a Paris firm.” 

“It does not seem to me very conclusive. The cask admittedly 
came from Paris, but might not Paris have been only the last 
stage of a longer journey? How, for example, do we know that 
it was not from London, or Brussels, or Berlin, in the first 
instance, and rebooked at Paris with the object of laying a false 
scent? With regard to the letter, I understand you did not see 
the envelope. Therefore it does not seem to be evidence. As 
for the French paper, Felix had been frequently in France, and 
he might be responsible for that. The label, again, was 
a re-addressed old one. Might it not therefore have been taken 
off some quite different package and put on the cask?” 

“I admit the evidence is far from conclusive, though it might 
be said in answer to your first point about the re-addressing of 
the cask in Paris, that such would involve a confederate here. 
In any case it seemed to both our Chief and myself that Paris 
should be our first point of inquiry.” 

“But yes, monsieur, in that I entirely agree. I only wished 


THE CASK 


92 

to make the point that you have no real evidence that the solu^ 
tion of the problem lies here/^ 

‘T’m afraid we have not.” 

“Well, to proceed. As you have suggested, the first point is 
to ascertain if any one resembling the dead woman has dis¬ 
appeared recently. Your doctor says that she has been dead for 
a week or longer, but I do not think that we can confine our 
inquiries to that period only. She might have been kidnapped 
and held a prisoner for a considerable time previous to her 
death. I should say that it is not likely, but it may have 
happened.” 

He lifted his telephone, pressing another button. 

‘‘Bring me the list of disappearances of persons in the Paris 
area during the last four weeks, or rather”—he stopped and 
looked at the others—“the disappearances in all France for the 
same period.” 

In a few seconds a clerk entered with some papers. 

“Here are all the disappearances reported during March, mon¬ 
sieur,” he said, “and here those for April up to the present date. 
I haven’t a return for the last four weeks only, but can get one 
out at once if you wish.” 

“No. These are all right.” 

The Chief examined the documents. 

“Last month,” he said, “seven persons disappeared of whom 
six were women, four being in the Paris area. This month two 
people have disappeared, both women and both in the Paris 
area. That is six women in Paris in the last five weeks. Let’s 
see, now,” he ran his fingers down the column, “Suzanne 
Lemaitre, aged seventeen, last seen—^well, it could not be she. 
Lucille Marquet, aged twenty—^no good either. All these are 
girls under twenty-one, except one. Here, what is this? Marie 
Lachaise, aged thirty-four, height 172 centimetres—that is about 
five feet eight in English measure—dark hair and eyes and clear 
complexion, wife of M. Henri Lachaise, the avocat, of 41 rue 
Tinques, Boulevarde Arago. Left home on the twenty-ninth 
ultimo, that is about ten days ago, at three o’clock, ostensibly 
for shopping. Has not been heard of since. Better take a note 
of that.” 

M. Lefarge did so, and spoke for the first time. 


93 


M. LE CHEF DE LA SOR^TE 

“We shall try it, of course, monsieur, but I don’t expect much 
result. If that woman went out to shop she would hardly be 
wearing evening dress, as was the corpse.” 

“Also,” said Burnley, “I think we may take it the dead woman’s 
name was Annette B.” 

“Probably you are both right. Still, you had better make sure.” 

The Chief tossed away the papers and looked at Burnley. 

“No other disappearances have been reported, nor have we 
any further information here that would seem to help. I am 
afraid we must fall back on our other clues. Let us consider, 
therefore, where we should start.” 

He paused for a few moments and then resumed. 

“We may begin, I think, by checking the part of Felix’s 
statement which you, Mr. Burnley, have not yet been able to 
inquire into, and to do so we must interview M. Le Gautier and 
try to ascertain if he wrote the letter. If he admits it we will be 
a step farther on, if not, we must find out how far the story of the 
lottery and the bet is true, and whether the conversation described 
by Felix actually took place. In this case we must ascertain 
precisely who were present and overheard that conversation, and 
would therefore have the knowledge necessary to write that letter. 
If this does not give us what we want, it may be necessary to 
follow up each of these persons and try for our man by elimina¬ 
tion. A part of that inquiry would be a search for the typewriter 
used, which, as Mr. Burnley points out, is identifiable. Simul¬ 
taneously, I think we should endeavour to trace the wearing 
apparel and the cask. What do you think of that, gentlemen, 
for a rough programme?” 

“I don’t think we could do better, sir,” returned Burnley as 
the Chief looked at him, while Lefarge nodded his approval. 

“Very well, I would suggest that you and Lefarge go into 
the matter of the letter to-morrow. Arrange your programme 
as you think best for yourselves and keep me advised of how 
you get on. And now as to the clothes. Let me see exactly what 
you have.” 

Burnley spread out the dead woman’s clothes and jewellery 
on a table. The Chief examined them for some minutes in 
silence. 

“Better separate them into three lots,” he said at length, “the 


94 


THE CASK 


dress, the underclothes, and the trinkets. It will take three to 
work it properly.’’ He consulted his card index and picked up 
the telephone. 

^‘Send Mme. Furnier and Miles. Lecoq and Blaise here.” 

In a few seconds three stylishly dressed women entered. The 
Chief introduced Burnley and briefly explained the case. 

^T want you three ladies,” he said, ‘‘to take one each of these 
three lots of clothes and trinkets, and find the purchaser. Their 
quality will give you an idea of the shops to try. Get at it first 
thing to-morrow, and keep yourselves in constant touch with 
headquarters.” 

When the women had withdrawn with the articles he turned 
to Burnley,— 

“In an inquiry of this sort I like a report in the evenings of 
progress during the day. Perhaps you and Lefarge wouldn’t 
mind calling about nine to-morrow evening, when we shall have a 
further discussion. And now it is nearly eight o’clock, so you 
cannot do anything to-night. You, Mr. Burnley, are doubtless 
tired from your journey and will be glad to get to your hotel. 
So good-night, gentlemen.” 

The detectives bowed themselves out. After an exchange of 
further greetings and compliments, Lefarge said:— 

“Are you really very tired? Are you game for a short inquiry 
to-night?” 

“Why, certainly. What do you propose?” 

“This. Let us cross and get some dinner at Jules’ in the 
Boule Miche. It’s on the way to that address the Chief gave us. 
Then we could go on and see whether the body you found in the 
cask can be identified as that of Madame Marie Lachaise.” 

They strolled leisurely over the Pont St. Michel and crossed 
the Quai into the Boulevard. When Burnley was in London he 
swore there was no place like that city, but in Paris he never 
felt so sure. Jove! he was glad to be back. And what luck 
to have met this good fellow Lefarge again! He felt that in 
the intervals of business he was going to enjoy himself. 

They dined inexpensively but well, sitting over their cigars 
and liqueur coffee until the clocks struck nine. Then Lefarge 
made a move. 


M. LE CHEF DE LA StlRfiXE 95 

“I don’t like to go to this place too late,” he said. “Do you 
mind coming now?’^ 

They took a taxi and, leaving the Luxembourg behind on the 
left, quickly ran the mile or so to the Boulevard Arago. M. 
Lachaise received them at once and they stated their melancholy 
business, showing the photograph of the body. The avocat took 
it to the light and examined it earnestly. Then he returned it 
with a gesture of relief. 

^‘Thank God,’’ he said at length, “it’s not she.” 

“The body was clothed in a light pink evening dress, with 
several diamond rings on the fingers and a diamond comb in 
the hair.” 

“It is not she at all. My wife had no pink dress, nor did she 
wear a diamond comb. Besides, she left here in an out-of-door 
walking dress and all her evening things were in her wardrobe.” 

“It is conclusive,” said M. Lefarge, and with thanks and com¬ 
pliments they took their leave. 

“I thought that would be no good,” said Lefarge, “but we 
must do what the Chief says.” 

“Of course. Besides, you never know. Look here, old man,” 
he added, “I am tired after all. I think, if you don’t mind. I’ll 
get away to the hotel.” 

“But, of course. Whatever you feel like. Let’s stroll to the 
end of the Boulevard. We can get the Metro across the street at 
the Avenue d’Orleans.” 

They changed at Chatelet and, having arranged to meet next 
morning, the Inspector took the Maillot train for Concorde, while 
Lefarge went in the opposite direction to his home near the 
Place de la Bastille. 


CHAPTER X 


WHO WROTE THE LETTER? 

At ten o’clock next morning Lefarge called for Burnley at the 
latter’s hotel in the rue Castiglione. 

“Now for M. Alphonse Le Gautier, the wine merchant,” said 
the former as he hailed a taxi. 

A short drive brought them to the rue de Vallorbes, off the 
Avenue Friedland, and there they discovered that the gentle¬ 
man they were in search of was no myth, but a creature of real 
flesh and blood. He occupied a flat on the first floor of a big 
corner house, and the spacious approach and elegant furnishing 
indicated that he was a man of culture and comparative wealth. 
He had gone, they were told, to his office in the rue Henri Quatre, 
and thither the two friends followed him. He was a man of about 
five-and-thirty, with jet black hair and a pale, hawk-like face, and 
his manner was nervous and alert. 

“We have called, monsieur,” said Lefarge, when the detectives 
had introduced themselves, “at the instance of M. le Chef de la 
Surete, to ask your assistance in a small inquiry we are making. 
We want to trace the movements of a gentleman who is perhaps 
not unknown to you, a M. Leon Felix, of London.” 

“Leon Felix? Why, of course I know him. And what has 
he been up to?” 

“Nothing contrary to the law, monsieur,” returned Lefarge 
with a smile, “or, at least, we believe not. But unfortunately, in 
the course of another inquiry a point has arisen which makes it 
necessary for us to check some statements he has made about 
his recent actions. It is in this we want your help.” 

“I don’t think I can tell you much about him, but any ques¬ 
tions you ask I’ll try to answer.” 

“Thank you, M. Le Gautier. Not to waste your time, then. 
I’ll begin without further preface. When did you last meet 
M. Felix?” 


96 


WHO WROTE THE LETTER? 


97 


^‘Well, it happens I can tell you that, for I had a special reason 
to note the date.’’ He referred to a small pocket diary. “It was 
on Sunday the 14th of March, four weeks ago next Sunday.” 

“And what was the special reason to which you refer?” 

“This. On that day M. Felix and I made an arrangement 
to purchase coupons in the Government lotteries. He handed 
me 500 francs as his share, and I was to add another 500 francs 
and put the business through. Naturally I noted the transaction 
in my engagement book.” 

“Can you tell me under what circumstances this arrangement 
came to be made?” 

“Certainly. It was the result of an otherwise idle conversa¬ 
tion on the lottery system, which took place that afternoon 
between a number of men, of whom I was one, at the Cafe 
Toisson d’Or, in the rue Royale. At the close of the discussion 
I said I would try my luck. I asked Felix to join me, and he 
did so.” 

“And did you purchase the bonds?” 

“I did. I wrote enclosing a cheque that same evening.” 

“And I hope your speculation turned out successfully?” 

M. Le Gautier smiled. 

“Well, I can hardly tell you that, you know. The drawing 
will not be made till next Thursday.” 

“Next Thursday? Then I can only hope you will have luck. 
Did you write M. Felix that you had actually moved in the 
matter?” 

“No, I took it, that went without saying.” 

“So that you have not communicated with M. Felix in any 
way since last Sunday three weeks?” 

“That is so.” 

“I see. Now, another point, M. Le Gautier. Are you 
acquainted with a M. Dumarchez, a stockbroker, whose office is 
in the Boulevard Poissoniere?” 

“I am. As a matter of fact he also was present at the dis¬ 
cussion about the lotteries.” 

“And since that discussion you made a certain bet with him?” 

“A bet?” M. Le Gautier looked up sharply. “I don’t under¬ 
stand you. I made no bet.” 


98 


THE CASK 


“Do you remember having a discussion with M. Dumarchez 
about criminals pitting their wits against the police?^’ 

“No, I recollect nothing of the kind.” 

“Are you prepared, monsieur, to say that no such conversation 
took place?” 

“Certainly, I do say it. And I should very much like to 
know the purport of all these questions.” 

“I am sorry, monsieur, for troubling you with them, and I 
can assure you they are not idle. The matter is a serious one, 
though I am not at liberty to explain it fully at present. But 
if you will bear with me I would like to ask one or two other 
things. Can you let me have the names of those present at the 
Toisson d’Or when the conversation about the lotteries took 
place?” 

M. Le Gautier remained silent for some moments. 

“I hardly think I can,” he said at last. “You see, there was 
quite a fair sized group. Besides Felix, Dumarchez, and myself, 
I can recollect M. Henri Briant and M.‘Henri Boisson. I think 
there were others, but I cannot recall who they were.” 

“Was a M. Daubigny one of them?” 

“You are right. I had forgotten him. He was there.” 

“And M. Jaques Roget?” 

“I’m not sure.” M. Le Gautier hesitated again. “I think so, 
but I’m not really sure.” 

“Can you let me have the addresses of these gentlemen?” 

“Some of them. M. Dumarchez lives five doors from me in the 
rue de Vallorbes. M. Briant lives near the end of the 
rue Washington, where it turns into the Champs Elysees. The 
other addresses I cannot tell you off-hand, but I can help you to 
find them in a directory.” 

“Many thanks. Now, please excuse me for going back a 
moment. You gave me to understand you did not write to M. 
Felix on the subject of the lottery?” 

“Yes, I said so, I think, quite clearly.” 

“But M. Felix states the very opposite. He says he received 
a letter from you, dated Thursday, 1st April, that is this day 
week.” 

M. Le Gautier stared. 

“What’s that you say? He says he heard from me? There 


WHO WROTE THE LETTER? 


99 


must be a mistake there, monsieur, for I did not write to him.” 

‘‘But he showed me the letter.” 

“Impossible, monsieur. He could not have shown you what 
did not exist. Whatever letter he may have shown you was 
not from me. I should like to see it. Have you got it there?” 

For answer Lefarge held out the sheet which Felix had given 
to Burnley during their midnight conversation at the villa of St. 
Malo. As M. Le Gautier read it the look of wonder on his 
expressive face deepened. 

“Extraordinary!” he cried, “but here is a mystery! I never 
wrote, or sent, or had any knowledge of such a letter. It^s not 
only a forgery, but iFs a pure invention. There’s not a word of 
truth in that story of the bet and the cask from beginning to end. 
Tell me something more about it. Where did you get it?” 

“From M. Felix himself. He gave it to Mr. Burnley here, 
saying it was from you.” 

“But, good heavens!” the young man sprang to his feet and 
began pacing up and down the room, “I can’t understand that. 
Felix is a decent fellow, and he wouldn’t say it was from me if 
he didn’t believe it. But how could he believe it? The thing is 
absurd.” He paused and then continued. You say, monsieur, 
that Felix said this note was from me. But what made him 
think so? There’s not a scrap of writing about it. It isn’t even 
signed. He must have known any one could write a letter and 
type my name below it. And then, how could he suppose that 
I should write such a tissue of falsehoods.” 

“But that is just the difficulty,” returned Lefarge. “It’s not 
so false as you seem to imagine. The description of the conver¬ 
sation about the lottery and your arrangement with Felix to 
purchase bonds is, by your own admission, true.” 

“Yes, that part is, but the rest, all that about a bet and a 
cask, is wholly false.” 

“But there I fear you are mistaken also, monsieur. The part 
about the cask is apparently true. At least the cask arrived, 
addressed as described, and on the day mentioned. 

Again the young merchant gave an exclamation of astonish¬ 
ment. 

“The cask arrived?” he cried. “Then there really was a 
cask?” He paused again. “Well, I cannot understand it, but 


100 THE CASK 

I can only repeat that I never wrote that letter, nor have I the 
slightest idea of what it is all about.’^ 

‘Tt is, of course, obvious, monsieur, as you point out, that 
any one could have typed a letter ending with your name. But 
you will admit it is equally obvious that only a person who knew 
of your entering the lottery could have written it. You tell us 
you are not that person, and we fully accept your statement. 
Who else then, M. Le Gautier, had this information?” 

“As far as that goes, any one who was present at the discussion 
at the Toisson d’Or.” 

“Quite so. Hence you will see the importance of my questions 
as to who these were.” 

M. Le Gautier paced slowly up and down the room, evidently 
thinking deeply. 

“I don’t know that I do,” he said at last. “Suppose everything 
in that letter was true. Suppose, for argument’s sake, I had writ¬ 
ten it. What then? What business of the police is it? I can’t 
see that the law has been broken.” 

Lefarge smiled. 

“That ought to be clear enough, anyway. Look at the facts. 
A cask arrives in London by the I. and C. boat from Rouen, 
labelled to a man named Felix at the certain address. Inquiries 
show that no one of that name lives at that address. Further, 
the cask is labelled “Statuary,” but examination shows that it 
does not contain statuary, but money, sovereigns. Then a man 
representing himself as Felix appears, states he lives at the false 
address, which is untrue, says he is expecting by that boat a 
cask of statuary, which is also untrue, and claims the one in 
question. The steamer people, being naturally suspicious, will 
not give it up, but by a trick Felix gets hold of it, and takes it 
to quite another address. When questioned by the police he pro¬ 
duces this letter to account for his actions. I do not think it 
surprising that we are anxious to learn who wrote the letter, and 
if its contents are true.” 

“No, no, of course it is reasonable. I did not understand the 
sequence of events. All the same, it is the most extraordinary 
business I ever heard of.” 

“It is strange, certainly. Tell me, M. Le Gautier, have you 
ever had any disagreement with Mr. Felix? Can you imagine 


I 


WHO WROTE THE LETTER? 101 

him having, or thinking he had, any cause of offence against 
you?” 

^‘Nothing of the kind.” 

^‘You never gave him cause, however innocently, to feel 
jealousy?” 

“Never. But why do you ask?” 

“I was wondering whether he might not have played a trick 
on you, and have written the letter himself.” 

“No, no. I’m sure it’s not that. Felix is a very straight, 
decent fellow. He v/ould not do a thing like that.” 

“Well, can you think of any one who might be glad to give 
you annoyance? What about the men who were present when 
you discussed the lottery? Or any one else at all?” 

“I cannot think of a single person.” 

“Did you tell anyone about this matter of the lottery?” 

“No. I never mentioned it.” 

“One other question, monsieur, and I have done. Did you at 
any time borrow £50 or the equivalent of French money from 
M. Felix.” 

“I never borrowed from him at all.” 

“Or do you know any one who borrowed such a sum from 
him?” 

“No one, monsieur.” 

“Then, monsieur, allow me to express my regret for the 
annoyance given, and my thanks for your courteous replies to 
my questions.” He flashed a glance at Burnley. “If we might 
still further inflict ourselves on you, I should like, with your 
permission, to ask M. Dumarchez to join us here so that we 
may talk the matter over together.” 

“An excellent idea, monsieur. Do so by all means.” 

One of the eventualities the colleagues had discussed before 
starting their morning’s work was the possible denial by M. Le 
Gautier of any bet with M. Dumarchez. They had decided that 
in such a case the latter must be interrogated before a com¬ 
munication could reach him from Le Gautier. It was with this 
in view that Lefarge left his friend with the wine-merchant, 
while going himself to interview his neighbour. 

As the detective reached the door of the stockbroker’s office 


102 


THE CASK 


in the Boulevard Poissoniere it opened and a middle-aged gentle¬ 
man with a long, fair beard emerged. 

“Pardon, but are you M. Dumarchez?” asked Lefarge. 

“My name, monsieur. Did you wish to see me?’^ 

The detective introduced himself, and briefly stated his busi¬ 
ness. 

“Come in, monsieur,’^ said the other. “I have an appoint¬ 
ment in another part of Paris shortly, but I can give you ten 
minutes.^’ He led the way into his private room and waved 
his visitor to a chair. 

“It is the matter of the bet, monsieur,” began Lefarge. “The 
test has failed, and the police have therefore to satisfy themselves 
that the cask was really sent with the object stated.” 

M. Dumarchez stared. 

“I do not understand,” he replied. “To what bet are you 
referring?” 

“To the bet between you and M. Le Gautier. You see, M. 
Felixes dealings with the cask are the result of the bet, and it 
must be obvious to you that confirmation of his statement is 
required.” 

The stockbroker shook his head with decision as if to close 
the conversation. 

“You have made some mistake, monsieur. I made no bet 
with M. Le Gautier and, for the rest, I have no idea what you 
are speaking of.” 

“But, monsieur, M. Felix stated directly that you had bet 
M. Le Gautier he could not get the cask away. If that is not 
true, it may be serious for him.” 

'I know nothing of any cask. What Felix are you referring 

“M. Leon Felix, of St. Malo, London.” 

A look of interest passed over the stockbroker’s face. 

Leon Felix? I certainly know him. A decent fellow he is 
too. And you mean to say he told you I was mixed up with 
some matter connected with a cask?” 

“Certainly. At least he told my colleague, Mr. Burnley, of 
the London police.” 

“My dear monsieur, your colleague must be dreaming. Felix 
must have been speaking of some one else.” 


103 


WHO WROTE THE LETTER? 

“I assure you not, monsieur. There is no mistake. M. Felix 
states the bet arose out of a conversation on the State lotteries, 
which took place in the Cafe Toisson d’Or, three weeks ago last 
Sunday, at which you were present.’’ 

“He is right about the conversation, an 3 rway. I recollect that 
quite well, but I know nothing whatever of any bet. Certainly, 
I made none.” 

“In that case, monsieur, I have to offer my apologies for 
having troubled you. I can see a mistake has been made. But 
before I leave, perhaps you would have the kindness to tell me 
who else were present on that occasion. Probably I should 
have gone to one of them.” 

After some consideration M. Dumarchez mentioned three 
names, all of which Lefarge already had in his notebook. Then 
excusing himself on the ground of his appointment, the stock¬ 
broker hurried away, while Lefarge returned to report to Burnley 
and M. Le Gautier. 

During the afternoon the colleagues called on each of the 
men whose names they had been given as having been present 
at the Cafe Toisson d’Or when the lottery discussion took place. 
M. Briant had gone to Italy, but they saw the others, and in 
each case the result was the same. All remembered the con¬ 
versation, but none knew anything of the bet or the cask. In¬ 
quiries from the waiters at the Toisson d’Or likewise were with¬ 
out result. 

“We don’t seem to get much forrader,” remarked Burnley, 
as the two friends sat over their coffee after dinner that evening. 
“I am inclined to believe that these men we have seen really 
don’t know anything about the cask.” ^ 

“I agree with you,” returned Lefarge. “At any rate it 
shouldn’t be difficult to test at least part of their statements. 
We can find out from the lottery people whether Le Gautier did 
purchase 1000 francs worth of bonds on Sunday three weeks. If 
he did, I think we must take it that the story of the conversation 
in the Toisson d’Or is true, and that he and Felix did agree to 
go in for it jointly.” 

“There can be no reasonable doubt of that.” 

“Further, we can find out if the drawing takes place next 
Thursday. If it does, it follows that all that part of the letter 


104 


THE CASK 


about the winning of the money and the test with the cask is 
false. If, on the other hand, it has already been made, the 
letter may conceivably be true, and Le Gautier is lying. But 
I don’t think that likely.” 

‘‘Nor I. But I don’t quite agree with you about the letter. 
We already know the letter is false. It said £988 would be sent 
in the cask, whereas there was a body and £52 10s. But the 
question of the test is not so clear to me. The cask did come as 
described in the letter, bearing the false address and description, 
and if it was not so sent for the reason mentioned, what other 
reason can you suggest?” 

“None, I admit.” 

“Let us see, then, just what we do know about the writer of 
the letter. Firstly, he must have known of the conversation 
about the lottery, and of the arrangement made by Felix and 
Le Gautier to enter for it. That is to say, he must either have 
been present in the Toisson d’Or when it took place, or some one 
who was there must have repeated it to him. Secondly, he must 
have known all the circumstances of the sending out of the cask, 
at least as far as the false address and description were con¬ 
cerned. Thirdly, he must have had access to a rather worn 
typewriter, which we believe could be identified, and fourthly, 
he must have possessed, or been able to procure French note 
paper. So much is certain. We may also assume, though it 
has neither been proved, nor is it very important, that he could 
use the typewriter himself, as it is unlikely that such a letter 
would be done by a typist from dictation.” 

“That’s true, and so far as I can see, the only man that fdls 
the bill so far is Felix himself.” 

“I don’t think it was Felix. I believe he was telling the 
truth all right. But we haven’t enough information yet to judge. 
Perhaps when we follow up the cask we shall be able to connect 
some of these men we saw to-day with it.” 

“Possibly enough,” answered Lefarge, rising. “If we are to 
get to the Surete by nine, we had better go.” 

“Is it your Chief’s habit to hold meetings at nine o’clock? 
It seems a curious time to me.” 

“And he’s a curious man, too. First rate at his job, you know, 
and decent, and all that. But peculiar. He goes away in the 


WHO WROTE THE LETTER? 105 

afternoons, and comes back after dinner and works half the 
night. He says he gets more peace then?^’ 

“I dare say he does, but it’s a rum notion for all that.” 

M. Chauvet listened with close attention to the report of the 
day’s proceedings and, after Lefarge ceased speaking, sat mo¬ 
tionless for several seconds, buried in thought. Then, like a 
man who arrives at a decision he spoke:— 

‘‘The matter, so far as we have gone, seems to resolve itself 
into these points. First, did a conversation about the lotteries 
take place in the Cafe Toisson d’Or about four weeks ago? I 
think we may assume that it did. Second, did Felix and Le 
Gautier agree to enter, and if so, did Le Gautier send a cheque 
that day? Here we can get confirmation by making inquiries 
at the lottery offices, and I will send a man there to-morrow. 
Third, has the drawing taken place? This can be ascertained 
in the same way. Beyond that, I do not think we can go at 
present, and I am of opinion our next move should be to try and 
trace the cask. That line of inquiry may lead us back to one 
of these gentlemen you have seen to-day, or may point to some 
one else whom we may find was present at the Toisson d’Or. 
What do you think, gentlemen?” 

“We had both arrived at the same conclusion, monsieur,” 
answered Lefarge. 

“Well then, you will make inquiries about the cask to-morrow, 
will you? Good. I will look out for you in the evening.” 

Having arranged eight o’clock at the Gare du Nord for the 
rendezvous next day, the detectives bid each other good-night 
and went their ways. 


CHAPTER XI 


MM. DUPIEKRE ET CIE. 

The hands of the large clock at the Gare du Nord were pointing 
to three minutes before eight next morning as Inspector Burnley 
walked up the steps of the entrance. Lefarge was there before 
him and the two men greeted each other warmly. 

have a police box cart here/’ said Lefarge. “Give me your 
papers and we’ll have the cask out in a brace of shakes.” 

Burnley handed them over and they went to the luggage 
bureau. Lefarge’s card had a magical effect, and in a very few 
minutes the sacking-covered barrel had been found and loaded 
on to the cart. Lefarge instructed the driver. 

“I want that taken to a street off the Rue de la Convention 
at Crenelle. You might start now and stop at the Crenelle end 
of the Pont Mirabeau. Wait there until I come for you. I 
suppose it will take you an hour or more?” 

“It’ll take more than an hour and a half, monsieur,” replied 
the man. “It is a long way and this cart is very heavy.” 

“Very well, just do the best you can.” 

The man touched his cap and moved off with his load. 

“Are we in any hurry?” asked Burnley. 

“No, we have to kill time until he gets there. Why do you 
ask?” 

“Nothing, except that if we have time enough, let’s go down 
directly to the river and take a boat. I always enjoy the Seine 
boats.” 

“As a matter of fact so do I,” replied Lefarge. “You get the 
air and the motion is pleasanter and more silent than a bus. 
They are not so slow either when you consider the stops.” 

They took a bus which brought them southwards through the 
Louvre, and, alighting at the Pont des Arts, caught a steamer 
going to Suresnes. The morning was fresh and exquisitely clear. 

106 


107 


MM. DUPIERRE ET CIE 

The sun, immediately behind them at first, crept slowly round 
to the left as they followed the curve of the river. Burnley sat 
admiring perhaps for the fiftieth time the graceful architecture of 
the bridges, justly celebrated as the finest of any city in the 
world. He gazed with fresh interest and pleasure also on the 
buildings they were carried past, from the huge pile of the Louvre 
on the right bank to the great terrace of the Quai d’Orsay on 
the left, and from the Trocadero and the palaces of the Champs 
filysees back to the thin tapering shaft of the Eiffel Tower. 
How well he remembered a visit that he and Lefarge had paid 
to the restaurant on the lower stage of this latter when they 
lunched at the next table to Madame Marcelle, the young and 
attractive looking woman who had murdered her English hus¬ 
band by repeated doses of a slow and irritant poison. He had 
just turned to remind his companion of the circumstance when 
the latter’s voice broke in on his thoughts. 

“I went back to the Surete after we parted last night. I 
thought it better to make sure of the cart this morning, and I 
also looked up our records about this firm of monumental sculp¬ 
tors. It seems that it is not a vey large concern, and all thle 
power is vested in the hands of M. Paul Thevenet, the managing 
director. It is an old establishment and apparently eminently 
respectable, and has a perfectly clean record so far as we are 
concerned.” 

^‘Well, that’s so much to the good.” 

They disembarked at the Pont Mirabeau and, crossing to the 
south side and finding a tolerably decent looking cafe, sat down 
at one of the little tables on the pavement behind a screen of 
shrubs in pots. 

^‘We can see the end of the bridge from here, so we may 
wait comfortably until the cart appears,” said Lefarge, when 
he had ordered a couple of bocks. 

They sat on in the pleasant sun, smoking and reading the 
morning papers. Nearly an hour passed before the cart came 
into view slowly crossing the bridge. Then they left their places 
at the cafe and, signing to the driver to follow, walked down the 
rue de la Convention, and turned into the rue Provence. Nearly 
opposite, a little way down the street, was the place of which 
they were in search. 


108 


THE CASK 


Its frontage ran the whole length of the second block, and 
consisted partly of a rather ancient looking four-story factory 
or warehouse and partly of a high wall, evidently surrounding 
a yard. At the end of the building this wall was pierced by a 
gateway leading into the yard, and just inside was a door in 
the end wall of the building, labelled “Bureau.” 

Having instructed the driver to wait outside the gate, they 
pushed open the small door and asked to see M. Thevenet on 
private business. After a delay of a few minutes a clerk ushered 
them into his room. 

The managing director was an elderly man, small and rather 
wizened, with a white moustache, and a dry but courteous manner. 
He rose as the detectives entered, wished them good-morning, 
and asked what he could do for them. 

“I must apologise for not sending in my card, M. Thevenet,” 
began Lefarge, presenting it, “but, as the matter in question 
is somewhat delicate, I preferred that your staff should not know 
my profession.” 

M. Thevenet bowed. 

“This, sir,” went on Lefarge, “is my colleague, Mr. Burnley 
of the London police, and he is anxious for some information, 
if you would be so kind as to let him have it.” 

“I will be pleased to answer any questions I can. I speak 
English if Mr. Burnley would prefer it.” 

“I thank you,” said Burnley. “The matter is rather a serious 
one. It is briefly this. On Monday last—four days ago—a 
cask arrived in London from Paris. Some circumstances with 
which I need not trouble you aroused the suspicions of the 
police, with the result that the cask was seized and opened. 
In it were found, packed in sawdust, two things, firstly, £52 10s. 
in English gold, and secondly the body of a youngish woman, 
evidently of good position, and evidently murdered by being 
throttled by a pair of human hands.” 

“Horrible!” ejaculated the little man. 

“The cask was of very peculiar construction, the woodwork 
being at least twice as heavy as that of an ordinary wine cask 
and secured by strong iron bands. And, sir, the point that has 
brought us to you is that your firm’s name was stencilled on it 


MM. DUPIERRE ET CIE 109 

after the words ^‘Return to,” and it was addressed on one of 
your firm’s labels.” 

The little man sprang to his feet. 

‘‘Our cask? Our label?” he cried, in evident astonishment. 
“Do I understand you to say, sir, that the cask containing this 
body was sent out by us?” 

“No, sir,” returned Burnley, “I did not say that. I simply 
say that it arrived bearing your name and label. I am in total 
ignorance of how or when the body was put in. That is what 
I am over from London to investigate.” 

“But the thing is utterly incredible,” said M. Thevenet, pacing 
up and down the room. “No, no,” he added, with a wave of his 
hand as Burnley would have spoken, “I don’t mean that I doubt 
your word. But I cannot but feel that there must be a terrible 
mistake.” 

“It is only right to add, sir,” continued Burnley, “that I did 
not myself see the label. But it was seen by the men of the 
carrying company, and especially by one of their clerks who 
examined it carefully after suspicion had been aroused. The 
label was afterwards destroyed by Felix, to whom the cask was 
addressed.” 

“Felix, Felix, the name seems familiar. What was the full 
name and address?” 

“M. Leon Felix, 141 West Judd Street, Tottenham Court Road, 
London, W.C.” 

“Ah, of course,” rejoined M. Thevenet. “There is, then, really 
such a man? I rather doubted it at the time, you know, for our 
advice card of the despatch of the cask was returned marked, 
‘Not known,’ and I then looked him up in the London directory 
and could not find him. Of course, as far as we were concerned, 
we had the money and it did not matter to us.” 

Burnley and his colleague sat up sharply. 

“I beg your pardon, M. Thevenet,” said Burnley. “What’s 
that you say? At the time? At what time, if you please?” 

“Why, when we sent out the cask. When else?” returned the 
director, looking keenly at his questioner. 

“But, I don’t understand. You did send out a cask then, ad¬ 
dressed to Felix at Tottenham Court Road?” 


no 


THE CASK 


‘‘Of course we did. We had the money, and why should we 
not do so?’^ 

“Look here, M. Thevenet,” continued Burnley, “we are evi¬ 
dently talking at cross purposes. Let me first explain more fully 
about the label. According to our information, which we have 
no reason to doubt, the address space had been neatly cut out and 
another piece of paper pasted behind, bearing the address in ques¬ 
tion. It seemed to us therefore, that some person had received 
the cask from you and, having altered the label, packed the body 
in it and sent it on. Now we are to imderstand that the cask 
was sent out by you. Why then should the label have been 
altered?’’ 

“I’m sure I cannot tell.” 

“May I ask what was in the cask when it left here?” 

“Certainly. It was a small group of statuary by a good man 
and rather valuable.” 

“I’m afraid, M. Thevenet, I haven’t got the matter clear yet. 
It would oblige us both very much if you would be kind enough 
to tell us all you know about the sending out of that cask.” 

“With pleasure.” He touched a bell and a clerk entered. 

“Bring me,” he said, “all the papers about the sale of that 
group of Le Mareschal’s to M. Felix of London.” He turned 
again to his visitors. 

“Perhaps I had better begin by explaining our business to you. 
It is in reality three businesses carried on simultaneously by one 
firm. First, we make plaster casts of well-known pieces. They 
are not valuable and sell for very little. Secondly, we make 
monuments, tombstones, decorative stone panels and the like for 
buildings, rough work, but fairly good. Lastly we trade in really 
fine sculpture, acting as agents between the artists and the public. 
We have usually a considerable number of such good pieces in 
our showroom. It was one of these latter, a 1400 franc group, 
that was ordered by M. Felix.” 

“Felix ordered it?” burst in Burnley, “but there, pardon me. 
I must not interrupt.” 

The clerk returned at this moment and laid some papers on 
his principal’s desk. The latter turned them over, selected one, 
and handed it to Burnley. 

“Here is his letter, you see, received by us on the morning 


MM. DUPIERRE ET CIE 111 

of the 30th of March, and enclosing notes for 1500 francs. The 
envelope bore the London postmark.” 

The letter was written by hand on one side of a single sheet 
of paper and was as follows:— 

«141 West Jubb Street, 
‘‘Tottenham Court Road, 

“London, W.C., 

March, 1912. 

“Messrs Dupierre et Cie., 

“Rue Provence, 

“Rue de la Convention, 

“Crenelle, Paris. 

“Gentlemen. —I am anxious to purchase the group of statu¬ 
ary in the left-hand corner back of your Boulevard des Capucines 
showroom, looking from the street. The group is of three female 
figures, two seated and one standing. There can be no doubt 
about the one I mean, as it is the only such in the left of the 
window. 

“Please forward immediately to the above address. 

“I do not know the exact price, but understand it is about 
1500 francs. I therefore enclose notes for that sum, and if a 
balance remains on either side it can be adjusted by letter. 

“I may say that an unexpected call to England prevented me 
ordering this in person. 

“Yours, etc. 

Leon Felix.” 

Inspector Burnley examined the letter. 

“You will allow us to keep this in the meantime, I presume?” 
he asked. 

“Certainly.” 

“You said the money was in notes. You mean, I take it, or¬ 
dinary State paper money whose source could not be traced; 
not any kind of cheque or draft payable through a bank?” 

“Precisely.” 

“Well, sir, pardon my interruption.” 

“There is little more to add. The group was packed and 


112 


THE CASK 


despatched on the day we received the letter. Its price was, as 
a matter of fact, only 1400 francs, and the balance of 100 francs 
was therefore enclosed with it. This was considered as safe as 
any other way of sending it, as the cask was insured for its full 
value.’^ 

“The cask? You packed it then in a cask?’* 

“Yes. We make a special kind of cask in two sizes, very heavy 
and strong, for sending out such pieces. It is our own idea, and 
we are rather proud of it. We find it simpler and safer than a 
crate.” 

“We have the cask in a cart outside. Perhaps, if we brought 
it in, you would be good enough to see if it could be identified, 
firstly if it is yours, and secondly, if so, if it is the particular one 
you sent to Felix.” 

“Well, you see, unfortunately it was sent from our showrooms 
in the Boulevard des Capucines. If you have time to take it 
there I will instruct the manager to assist you in every way in 
his power. Indeed, I will go with you myself. I shall not be 
able to rest until the matter is cleared up.” 

The detectives thanked him and, while Lefarge was instruct¬ 
ing the carter, M. Thevenet procured a taxi and they drove to 
the Boulevard des Capucines. 


CHAPTER XII 


AT THE GARE ST. LAZARE 

The showrooms consisted of a small but luxuriously fitted up 
shop, containing many objects of excellence and value. M. 
Thevenet introduced the manager, M. Thomas, a young and 
capable looking man, who invited them into his office. He did 
not speak English, and Lefarge carried on the conversation. 

“These gentlemen,” said M. Thevenet, “are making some in¬ 
quiries about the sale of Le Mareschal’s group to Mr. Felix of 
London last week. I want you to tell them all you can, Thomas.” 

The young man bowed. 

“With pleasure, monsieur.” 

In a few words Lefarge put him in possession of the main facts. 
“Perhaps,” he continued, “if you would be kind enough to tell 
me all that you know, I could then ask questions on any point I 
did not understand.” 

“But certainly, monsieur. There is not much to tell.” He 
looked up some memoranda. “On Tuesday week, the 30th of 
March, we had a phone from the head office saying that M. Le 
Mareschal’s last group, which we had on exhibition in our win¬ 
dow, was sold. We were to send it at once to M. Leon Felix, at 
the London address you know. Also we were to enclose 100 
francs, refund of an overpayment of the cost. This was done. 
The group and the money were duly packed and despatched. 
Everything was perfectly in order and in accordance with our 
usual custom. The only remarkable feature in the whole trans¬ 
action was the absence of a receipt from Felix. I do not think 
I can recall another instance in which we were not advised of 
our goods safe arrival, and in this case it was doubly to be ex¬ 
pected, owing to the enclosure of money. I might perhaps men¬ 
tion also that on that same Tuesday we had a telephone call from 
M. Felix, through from London, asking when and by what route 
we were sending the cask, to which I replied in person.” 

113 


114 


THE CASK 


The young man paused, and Lefarge asked how the group was 
packed. 

^Tn a number A cask, our usual practice.’^ 

“We have a cask coming along. It will be here presently. 
Could you identify it?’^ 

“Possibly I or the foreman might.’’ 

“Well, M. Thevenet, I do not think we can get any further till 
it arrives. There would just be time for dejeuner. We hope you 
and M. Thomas will give us the pleasure of your company.” 

This was agreed to, and they lunched at one of the com¬ 
fortable restaurants on the Boulevard. When they returned to 
the shop the cart was waiting. 

“We had better have him round to the yard,” said M. Thomas. 
“If you will go through I will show him the way.” 

The yard was a small open area surrounded by sheds. Into 
one of these the cart was backed and the cask unpacked. M. 
Thomas examined it. 

“That’s certainly one of our casks,” he said. “They are our 
own design and, so far as I am aware, are used by no one else.” 

“But, M. Thomas,” said Lefarge, “can you identify it in any 
special manner? We do not, of course, doubt what you have 
said, but if it could be established that this particular cask had 
passed through your yard it would be important. Otherwise, if 
you judge only by likeness to type, we cannot be sure that some 
one has not copied your design to try and start a false scent.” 

“I see what you mean, but I fear I cannot certify what you 
v^rant. But I’ll call the foreman and packers. Possibly some of 
them can help you.” 

He went into another of the sheds, returning immediately with 
four men. 

“Look at that cask, men,” he said. “Have any of you ever 
seen it before?” 

The men advanced and inspected the cask minutely, looking 
at it from all sides. Two of them retreated, shaking their heads, 
but the third, an elderly man with white hair, spoke up. 

“Yes,” he said. “I packed this cask not a fortnight ago.” 

“How are you so certain of that?” asked Lefarge. 

“By this, monsieur,” said the man, pointing to the broken stave. 
“That stave was split. I remember quite well the shape of the 


AT THE GARE ST. LAZARE 


115 


crack. I noticed it, and wondered if I should report it to the 
foreman, and then I thought it was safe enough and didn’t. But 
I told my mate about it. See here, Jean,” he called to the fourth 
man, ‘‘is that the crack I showed you some days ago, or is it 
only like it?” 

The fourth man advanced and inspected it in his turn. 

“It’s the same one,” he said confidently. “I know, because I 
thought that split was the shape of my hand, and so it is.” 

He placed his hand on the adjoining stave, and there certainly 
was a rude resemblance in shape. 

“I supposed neither of you men remember what you packed in 
it, or whom it was for?” 

“As far as I remember,” said the third man, “it was a statue 
of three or four women, but I don’t remember who it was for.” 

“It wasn’t for a man called Felix, of London?” 

“I remember the name, but I can’t say if it was for him.” 

“Thank you. Would you tell me how it was packed? What 
steadied the group?” 

“Sawdust, monsieur, simply sawdust, carefully rammed.” 

“Can you tell me if the railway cart took it from here, or how 
did it go?” 

“No, monsieur, it was taken by one of our own motor lorries 
from the Crenelle works.” 

“Did you know the driver?” 

“Yes, monsieur, it was Jules Fouchard.” 

“I suppose, monsieur,” Lefarge turned to the managing di¬ 
rector, “we could interview this man Fouchard?” 

“Why, certainly. M. Thomas will find out where he is.” 

“Pardon, messieurs,” interposed the elderly packer, “but he’s 
here now. Or at least I saw him not ten minutes ago.” 

“Good. Then try and find him, and tell him not to go away 
till we have seen him.” 

In a few moments the driver was found and, having asked 
him to wait outside, Lefarge continued his questions to the packer. 

“At what o’clock did the cask leave here?” 

“About four. I had it packed and ready by two, but the 
lorry did not come for a couple of hours after that.” 

“Did you see it loaded up?” 

“I helped to load it up.” 


116 


THE CASK 


^‘Now tell me,” continued Lefarge, “where was the cask be¬ 
tween the time you put the group in and the arrival of the 
motor?” 

“Here, monsieur, in this shed where I packed it.” 

“And did you leave it during that time?” 

“No, monsieur, I was here all the time.” 

“So that—please be very careful about this—^no one could 
have tampered with it in any way up till the time it left the 
yard?” 

“Absolutely impossible, monsieur. It is quite out of the 
question.” 

“Thank you, we are exceedingly obliged to you,” said Lefarge, 
slipping a couple of francs into the man’s hand as he withdrew. 
“Now, could I see the lorry driver?” 

Jules Fouchard proved to be a small, energetic looking man, 
with sharp features and intelligent eyes. He was sure of his 
facts, and gave his answers clearly and without hesitation. 

“M. Fouchard,” began Lefarge, “this gentleman and I are 
trying to trace the movements of one of your casks, which I 
am informed left here by your lorry about four o’clock on Tues¬ 
day, the thirtieth of March last. Can you recall the occasion?’^ 

“Permit me to get my delivery book, monsieur.” 

He disappeared for a moment, returning with a small, cloth- 
covered book. Rapidly turning over the pages, he foun'd what 
he was looking for. 

“For M. Leon Felix, 141 West Jubb Street, Tottenham Court 
Road, London? Yes, monsieur. It was the only cask which left 
here that day. I took it to the Gare St. Lazare and handed it to 
the railway officials. Here is their signature for it.” 

He passed the book over and Lefarge read the name. 

“Thank you. Who is this Jean Duval? I shall probably want 
to see him and would like to know where to find him.” 

“He is a clerk in the departure passenger cloak-room.” 

“You left here with the cask, I understand, about four o’clock?” 

“About that, monsieur.” 

“And what time did you arrive at the Gare St. Lazare?” 

“Just a few minutes later. I went direct.” 

“You didn’t stop on the way?” 

“No, monsieur.” 


AT THE GARE ST. LAZARE 


117 


‘‘Well now, monsieur, please don^t answer till you have con¬ 
sidered carefully. Was there any way in which the cask could 
have been tampered with between the time it was loaded up here 
and your handing it over to Jean Duval at the Gare St. Lazare?’^ 

“None, monsieur. No one could have got on the lorry without 
my knowledge, much less have done anything to the cask.’’ 

“And I take it from that, it would have been equally impossible 
to remove it entirely and substitute another?” 

“It would have been absolutely out of the question, monsieur.” 

After thanking and dismissing the driver, they returned to the 
manager’s room. 

“The position, then, seems to be this,” said Lefarge, as they 
sat down. “The cask left your yard containing a group of 
statuary, and it arrived in London containing the dead body of 
a woman. The change must therefore have been effected along 
the route, and the evidence of the steamer people seems to narrow 
it down to between here and Rouen.” 

“Why Rouen?” asked both gentlemen in a breath. 

“Well, I should have said, perhaps, between here and the time 
of loading on to the steamer at Rouen wharf.” 

“But I am afraid you are making a mistake there,” said M. 
Thomas; ‘The cask went by Havre. All our stuff does.” 

“Pardon me, M. Thomas, for seeming to contradict you,” said 
Burnley, in his somewhat halting French, “but I am as certain 
of it as of my presence here now, however the cask may have 
been sent, it certainly arrived in the London Docks by the Insular 
and Continental Steam Navigation Company’s boat from Rouen.” 

“But that is most mysterious,” rejoined M. Thomas. He struck 
a bell and a clerk appeared. 

“Bring me the railway papers about the sending of that cask 
to Felix, London, on the thirtieth ultimo.” 

“Here you are,” he said to Burnley, when the clerk returned. 
“Look at that. That is the receipt from the St. Lazare people 
for the freight on the cask between this and the address in Lon¬ 
don, per passenger train via Havre and Southampton.” 

“Well,” said Burnley, “this gets me altogether. Tell me,” he 
added after a pause, “when Felix telephoned you from London 
asking when and by what route you were sending the cask, what 
did you reply?” 


118 


THE CASK 


“I told him it was crossing on Tuesday night, the 30th of 
March, by Havre and Southampton.” 

^We’d better go to St. Lazare,” said Lefarge. ^‘Perhaps M. 
Thomas will kindly lend us that receipt?” 

“Certainly, but you must please sign for it, as I shall want it 
for my audit.” 

They parted with expressions of thanks on the part of the 
detectives, who promised to keep the others advised of the 
progress of the inquiry. 

A taxi brought them to St. Lazare, where, at the office of the 
superintendent of the line, Lefarge’s card had the usual magical 
effect. 

“Please be seated, gentlemen,” said the superintendent, “and 
let me know what I can do for you.” 

Lefarge showed him the receipt. 

“The matter is somewhat puzzling,” he said. “That cask, as 
you see, was invoiced out via Havre and Southampton on the 30th 
ultimo, and yet it turned up in London on Monday, the 5th 
instant, by the Insular and Continental Steam Navigation Com¬ 
pany's boat Bullfinch from Rouen. The contents of the cask 
when it left Messrs. Dupierre^s showroom was a group of statuary, 
but when it arrived at St. Katharine’s Docks—^well, I may tell 
you, monsieur, in confidence—^it contained the body of a woman 
—murdered.” 

The superintendent gave an exclamation of surprise. 

“You see, therefore, monsieur, the necessity of our tracing the 
cask as privately as possible.” 

“I certainly do. If you will wait a few minutes, gentlemen, 
I can get you part at least of the information you want.” 

The few minutes had expanded into nearly an hour before the 
superintendent returned. 

“Sorry to have kept you so long,” he apologised. “I find that 
your cask was delivered at our outward passenger cloak-room at 
about 4.15 p.m. on the 30th ultimo. It remained there until 
about 7.0 p.m., and during all this time it was under the personal 
supervision of one of the clerks named Duval, a most con¬ 
scientious and reliable man. He states it stood in full view of 
his desk, and it would have been quite impossible for any one to 
have tampered with it. He particularly remembers it from its 


AT THE GARE ST. LAZARE 


119 


peculiar shape and its weight, as well as because it was an un¬ 
usual object to send by passenger train. At about 7.0 p.m. it was 
taken charge of by two porters and placed in the van of the 7.47 
p.m. English boat train. The guard of the train was present when 
they put it into the van, and he should have been there till the 
train left. The guard is unfortunately off duty at present, but I 
have sent for him and will get his statement. Once the train 
left, the cask would simply be bound to go to Havre. If it had 
not done so with that insurance on it, we should have heard 
about it. However, I will communicate with our agent at Havre, 
and I should be able to get definite information in the morning.” 

^‘But, my dear sir,” cried Burnley helplessly, “I know of my 
own knowledge that it came by long sea from Rouen. I don’t 
for one moment doubt your word, but there must be a mistake 
somewhere.” 

^‘Ah,” returned the superintendent, smiling, *^now I come to 
something that will interest you. The cask we have just spoken 
of was sent out on the evening of the 30th ult. But I find 
another cask was despatched three days later, on the 1st instant. 
It also was addressed to M. Felix at the same London address and 
sent in by Messrs. Dupierre. It was labelled via Rouen and the 
I. and C. Company’s boat. It went by goods train that night, 
and I will get our Rouen agent to try and trace it, though, as 
he would have had no reason to remark it, I doubt if he will 
be able to do so.” 

Burnley swore. “I beg your pardon, sir, but this gets deeper 
and deeper. Two casks I” He groaned. 

“At least,” said the superintendent, “it has cleared up your 
difficulty about how a cask that left by one route arrived by 
another.” 

“It has done that, monsieur, and we are really extremely 
obliged for all your kindness and trouble.” 

“If there is anything else I can do I shall be very pleased.” 

“Thank you again. The only other point is to trace the cart 
that brought the second cask.” 

“Ah,” the superintendent shook his head; “I can’t do that for 
you, you know.” 

“Of course not. But perhaps you could get hold of, or put us 


120 


THE CASK 


in a position to get hold of your men who received the cask? We 
might get some information from them.’^ 

‘T shall do what I can. Now, gentlemen, if you will call any 
time in the morning, I shall let you have any further information 
I receive.’’ 

The detectives, having thanked him again, bowed themselves 
out and, strolling up and down the vast concourse, discussed their 
plans. 

^T should like to wire to London now, and also to write by 
to-night’s post,” said Burnley. “They’ll want to get on to trac¬ 
ing that second cask from Waterloo as soon as possible.” 

“Well, the ordinary letter-boxes are clear at half-past six, 
but if you are late you can post in the van of the English mail 
at the Gare du Nord up till 9.10 p.m., so you have plenty of 
time for that later. What about sending your wire from here 
now, and then going to the Hotel Continental to look up your 
friend Felix?” 

Burnley agreed, and when the telegram had been sent they 
took another taxi and drove to the Continental. Lefarge’s card 
produced immediately a polite and agreeable manager, anxious 
to assist. 

“We are trying to trace a man whom we believe stayed here 
recently,” explained Lefarge. “His name was Leon Felix.” 

“A rather short and slight man with a black beard and a 
pleasing manner?” replied the manager. “Oh, yes, I know 
M. Felix very well, and very pleasant I have always found him. 
He was here recently. I will inquire the exact dates.” 

He disappeared for a few seconds. 

“He was here from Saturday, the 13th of March, till Monday, 
the 15th. Then he returned on Friday, the 26th, and left again 
on the morning of Sunday, the 28th, to catch the 8.20 train 
for England at the Gare du Nord.” 

The two detectives exchanged glances of surprise • 

“Could you let me compare his signature in your register with 
one I have here?” asked Burnley. “I am anxious to make sure 
it is the same man.” 

“Certainly,” replied the manager, leading the way. 

The signature was the same, and, after thanking the manager, 
they took their departure. 


AT THE GARE ST. LAZARE 121 

“That’s an unexpected find,” Burnley remarked. “Felix said 
nothing to me about being here ten days ago.” 

“It’s a bit suggestive, you know,” returned his companion. 
“We’ll have to find out what he was doing during the visit.” 

Burnley nodded. 

“Now for my report, anyway,” he said. 

“I think I’ll go to the Surete and do the same,” answered 
Lefarge. 

They parted, having arranged to meet later in the evening. 
Burnley wrote a detailed account of his day to his Chief, asking 
him to have inquiries made at Waterloo about the second cask. 
Having posted it, he gave himself up to a study of Felix’s letter 
ordering the group of statuary. 

It was written on a sheet of the same kind of paper as those 
of the two typewritten letters received by Felix. Burnley care¬ 
fully compared the watermarks and satisfied himself on the 
point. Then, drawing from his pocket the address he had got 
Felix to write in the house on the Great North Road, he com¬ 
pared them. 

The handwriting was the same in each, at least that was his 
first impression, but on a closer examination he felt somewhat less 
certain. He was not a handwriting expert, but he had come across 
a good many of these men, and was aware of some of their 
methods. He applied those he knew and at last came to the con¬ 
clusion that Felix had written the order, though a certain doubt 
remained. He wrote another note to his Chief and enclosed the 
two letters, asking him to have them compared. 

Then he went out to spend the evening with Lefarge. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE OWNER OF THE DRESS 

When some time later the two friends met, Lefarge said:— 

‘T saw the Chief, and he’s not very satisfied with the way 
things are going. None of those women have done anything with 
the clothes. He’s got a notion we ought to advertise and he wants 
us to go there at nine to-night and talk it over.” 

Accordingly, at the hour named, they presented themselves at 
the office in the Surete. 

“Sit down, gentlemen,” began the Chief. “I wanted to consult 
with you about this case. In our efforts to identify the dead 
woman, which we agreed was our first essential, we have unfor¬ 
tunately had no success. Our three women have done exceedingly 
well as far as covering ground goes, but they have had no luck. 
You, gentlemen, have found out some important facts, but they 
have not led in this particular direction. Now, I am inclined to 
think we ought to advertise and I’d like to hear your views.” 

“What particular advertisements do you suggest, sir?” asked 
Burnley. 

“For everything. Advertise, in each case with 100 francs 
reward, for information about the dress, the underclothes if singu¬ 
lar in any way, the rings, the comb, and the body itself.” 

There was silence for a few moments, and then Burnley replied 
hesitatingly:— 

“We have a bit of prejudice at Scotland Yard about advertising 
except in special cases. I think the idea is that it puts people on 
their guard who might otherwise give themselves away. But in 
this case it would probably be the quickest way to a result.” 

“To me it would seem,” said Lefarge, “that even if there was a 
band of persons anxious to hush this murder up, there would also 
be enough outside that band to answer every one of the advertise¬ 
ments.” 

“That is rather my view,” agreed the Chief. “Take the ser- 

122 


123 


THE OWNER OF THE DRESS 

vants, for example, A woman wearing such clothes is certain to 
have lived in a house with several servants. Some one of them is 
bound to read the advertisement and recognise the description. 
If he or she intends to try for the reward we get the information, 
if not, he will certainly show the paper to the others, one of whom 
is almost certain to come. The same thing applies to shop assist¬ 
ants, none of whom could conceivably wish to keep the thing a 
secret. Yes, I think well try it. Will you draft out some forms, 
something like this, I should imagine. Dne hundred francs re¬ 
ward will be paid for information leading to the identification of 
the body of a lady, believed to have died about the 30th March’— 
say ‘died,’ of course, not ‘was murdered’—then the description, 
and ‘Apply at any Police Station.’ The others would be for in¬ 
formation leading to the identification of the purchaser of the 
various clothes.” 

“I shall have to see the three ladies for a proper description of 
the clothes,” said Lefarge. 

“Of course. I’ll send for them.” 

M. Chauvet telephoned to the department in question, and, 
after a delay of a few minutes, the three female detectives came 
in. With their help the advertisements were drawn up, and when 
the Chief had read and approved they were telephoned to the 
principal papers for insertion next day. Special trade journals 
relating to the millinery and jewellery trades were also supplied 
with copies for their next issues. 

“By the way,” observed M. Chauvet, when the women had left, 
“I have had a report about the lottery business. M. Le Gautier 
is correct on both points. He paid in the cheque on the date 
stated, and the drawing does not take place till next Thursday. 
The probabilities seem therefore to point to his being an honest 
man and having had nothing to do with the letter. And now, 
with regard to to-morrow. What do you propose?” 

“First, monsieur, we thought of going to the Gare St. Lazare 
to see if* the superintendent has any further information for us. 
I thought we should then try and trace back the cask that went 
via Rouen.” 

“Very good. I think I shall try another scent also, though not 
a very promising one. I shall put on a couple of men to go round 
the fashionable photographers with that photo of yours, and try 


124 


THE CASK 


if they can find a portrait of the woman. I had rather you could 
have done it”—he looked at Burnley—“because you have seen 
the body, but they may get something. That’s all, then, is it not? 
Good-night.” 

“Hard lines being done out of our evening,” said Lefarge, when 
they had left the great man’s room. “I was going to propose the 
Folies Bergeres. It’s not too late yet, though. What do you 
say?” 

“I’m on,” answered Burnley, “but I don’t want to stay more 
than an hour or so. I can always work better on plenty of sleep.” 

“Right,” returned Lefarge, and, calling a taxi, the two friends 
were driven to the famous music-hall. 

Lefarge called for Burnley the next morning at the latter’s 
hotel, and they made their way to the superintendent’s office at 
the Gare St. Lazare. 

“Well, gentlemen,” said their friend of the previous afternoon, 
motioning them to be seated, “I think I’ve got the information you 
want.” He took up some papers. “I have here the receipt of 
the Southampton boat people for what we may call number one 
cask, which was handed them on the arrival of the 7.47 from this 
station on the night of the 30th ult. Here,” he took up a similar 
paper, “I have the receipt of the I. and C. Steam Navigation Co. 
at Rouen for cask number two, which left here by goods train on 
the 1st inst., and was got on board on the 3rd. Finally, our 
agent at the Goods Station at the rue Cardinet informs me he has 
found the porters who assisted to unload this number two cask 
when it arrived. You can see them by going down there now.” 

“I can hardly find words to thank you, sir,” said Lefarge, 
“your help has been of the utmost value.” 

“Delighted, I am sure.” 

They parted with mutual compliments, and the detectives took 
a Ceinture train to Batignoles, and walked down the rue Cardinet 
to the vast goods station. 

They introduced themselves to the agent, who was expecting 
them, and brought them through long passages and across wide 
yards alive with traffic to a dock in the side of one of the huge 
goods sheds for outward bound traffic. Calling up two blue- 
bloused porters and instructing them to answer the detectives’ 
questions, he excused himself and took his leave. 


THE OWNER OF THE DRESS 


125 


“Now, men,” said Lefarge, “we’ll be much obliged for some 
information and there’ll be a few francs going if you can give it.” 

The men expressed anxiety to supply whatever was needed. 

“Do you remember on Thursday week, the 1st instant, un¬ 
loading a cask labelled for Felix, London, via Rouien and long 
sea?” 

“But yes, monsieur, we remember it,” said the men in chorus. 

“You must unload hundreds of casks. How did you come to 
notice this one so specially?” 

“Ah, monsieur,” replied one of the men, “had monsieur had 
to lift it himself he also would have noticed it. The weight was 
remarkable, extraordinary. The shape also was peculiar. In 
the middle there was no bulge.” 

“At what time did it arrive here?” 

“Just after six in the evening, monsieur, between five and ten 
minutes past.” 

“It is a good while since then. How do you come to remem¬ 
ber the time so exactly?” 

“Because, monsieur,” the man smiled, “we were going off duty 
at half-past six, and we were watching the time.” 

“Can you tell me who brought it to the yard?” 

The men shrugged their shoulders. 

“Alas! monsieur, we do not know,” the spokesman answered. 
“The carter we would recognise if we saw him again, but neither 
of us know where he lives nor the name of his employers.” 

“Can you describe him?” 

“But certainly, monsieur. He was a small man, thin and 
sickly looking, with white hair and a clean shaven face. 

“Well, keep a good look-out, and if you see him again find 
out who he is and let me know. Here is my address. If you do 
that there will be fifty francs for you.” 

Lefarge handed over a couple of five franc pieces and the 
detectives left, followed by the promises and thanks of the men. 

“I suppose an advertisement for the carter is the next scheme,” 
said Burnley, as they walked back in the Clichy direction. 

“We had better report to headquarters, I think,” replied Le¬ 
farge, “and see what the Chief advises. If he approves, we 
might get our advertisement into to-night’s papers.” 


126 


THE CASK 


Burnley agreed, and when they had had some lunch they rang 
up the Surete from the nearest call office. 

^‘That Lefarge?’’ was the answer. ‘‘The Chief wants you to 
return immediately. He’s got some news.” 

They took the Metro from Clichy to Chatelet and reached 
the Surete as the clocks were striking two. M. Chauvet was in. 

“Ah,” he said, as they entered, “we’ve had a reply to the dress 
advertisement. Madame Clothilde’s people near the Palais Royal 
rang up about eleven saying they believed they had supplied the 
dress. We got hold of Mile. Lecoq, who was working it, and 
sent her over, and she returned here about an hour ago. The 
dress was sold in February to Madame Annette Boirac, at the 
corner of Avenue de I’Alma and rue St. Jean, not far from the 
American Church. You’d better go round there now and make 
some inquiries.” 

“Yes, monsieur,” said Lefarge, “but before we go there is this 
question of the cask,” and he told what they had learned, and 
suggested the advertisement about the carter. 

M. Chauvet had just begun his reply when a knock came to the 
door and a boy entered with a card. 

“The gentleman’s waiting to see you on urgent business mon¬ 
sieur,” he said. 

“HalloI” said the Chief, with a gesture of surprise. “Listen 
to this.” He read out the words, “ ‘M. Raoul Boirac, rue St. Jean, 
1, Avenue de I’Alma.’ This will be Mme. Annette B.’s husband, 
I presume. These advertisements are doing well. You had 
better stop, both of you,” and then to the boy, “Wait a moment.” 

He picked up the telephone, pressing one of the buttons on 
the stand. 

“Send Mile. Joubert here immediately.” 

In a few moments a girl stenographer entered. M. Chauvet 
pointed to a corner of the room where Burnley had noticed a 
screen, set back as if to be out of the way. 

“I want every word of this conversation, mademoiselle,” said 
the Chief. “Please be careful to miss none of it, and also to 
keep quiet.” 

The girl bowed and, having seen her settled behind the screen, 
the Chief turned to the messenger. 

“I’ll see him now.” 


127 


THE OWNER OF THE DRESS 

In a few seconds M. Boirac entered the room. He was a 
strongly built man of rather under middle age, with thick black 
hair and a large moustache. On his face was an expression of 
strain, as if he was passing through a period of acute bodily or 
mental pain. He was dressed entirely in black and his manner 
was quiet and repressed. 

He looked round the room and then, as M. Chauvet rose to 
greet him, he bowed ceremoniously. 

“M. le Chef de la Surete?” he asked, and, as M. Chauvet 
bowed him to a chair, continued,— 

“I have called to see you, monsieur, on a very painful matter. 
I had hoped to have been able to do so alone,’’ he paused slightly, 
“but these gentlemen, I presume, are completely in your con¬ 
fidence?” He spoke slowly with a deliberate pronunciation of 
each word, as if he had thought out whether that was the best 
possible he could use and had come to the conclusion that it was. 

“If, monsieur,” returned M. Chauvet, “your business is in con¬ 
nection with the recent unfortunate disappearance of your wife, 
these gentlemen are the officers who are in charge of the case, 
and their presence would be, I think, to the advantage of all 
of us.” 

M. Boirac sprang from his chair, deep emotion showing under 
his iron control. 

“Then it is she?” he asked, in a suppressed voice. “You 
know? It seemed possible from the advertisement, but I wasn’t 
sure. I hoped—that perhaps- There is no doubt, I suppose?” 

“I shall tell you all we know, M. Boirac, and you can form 
your own conclusions. First, here is a photograph of the body 
found.” 

M. Boirac took the slip of card and looked at it earnestly. 

“It is she,” he murmured hoarsely, “it is she without a doubt,” 

He paused, overcome, and, the others respecting his feelings, 
there was silence for some moments. Then with a strenuous 
effort he continued, speaking hardly above a whisper,— 

“Tell me,” his voice shook as he pronounced the words with 
difficulty, “what makes her look so terrible? And those awful 
marks at her throat? What are they?” 

“It is with the utmost regret I have to tell you, M. Boirac, 
that your wife was undoubtedly murdered by strangulation. Fur- 



128 


THE CASK 


ther, you must know that she had been dead several days when 
that photograph was taken.” 

M. Boirac dropped into his chair, and sunk his head in his 
hands. 

‘‘My God!” he panted. “My poor Annette! Though I had no 
cause to love her, I did, God help me, in spite of everything, I 
did. I know it now when I have lost her. Tell me,” he continued 
in a low tone after another pause, “tell me the details.” 

“I fear they are rather harrowing, monsieur,” said the Chief, 
with sympathetic sorrow in his tone. “A certain cask was 
noticed by the London police, a detail, with which I need hardly 
trouble you, having aroused their suspicions. The cask was 
seized and opened, and the body was found inside.” 

The visitor remained with his face buried in his hands. After 
a few seconds he raised himself and looked at M. Chauvet. 

“Any clue?” he asked, in a choking tone. “Have you any 
clue to the villain who has done this?” 

“We have a number of clues,” returned the Chief, “but have 
not yet had time to work them. I have no doubt that we will 
have our hands on the murderer shortly. In the meantime, M. 
Boirac, to make assurance doubly sure, I would be glad if you 
would see if you can identify these clothes.” 

“Her clothes? Oh, spare me that. But there, I understand 
it is necessary.” 

. M. Chauvet picked up his telephone and gave directions for 
tne clothes to be sent in. The jewellery was not available, as 
Mile. Blaise had taken it in her round of the shops. 

“Alas! Yes,” cried M. Boirac sadly, when he saw the dress, 
“it is hers, it is hers. She wore it the evening she left. There 
can be no further doubt. My poor, mistaken Annette!” 

“I am afraid, M. Boirac, at the risk of giving you pain, I 
must ask you to be good enough to tell us all you can about the 
circumstances of your wife’s disappearance. These gentlemen 
are Mr. Burnley of the London police, and M. Lefarge of our 
own staff, and they are collaborating in the matter. You may 
speak before them with complete freedom.” 

M. Boirac bowed. 

“I will tell you everything, monsieur, but you must pardon me 
if I seem a little incoherent. I am not myself.” 


THE OWNER OF THE DRESS 129 

M. Chauvet stepped to a press and took from it a flask of 
brandy. 

^‘Monsieur,” he said, “you have our fullest sympathy. Allow 
me to offer you a little of this.” He poured out a stiff glass. 

“I thank you, monsieur,” returned the visitor, as he drank the 
cordial. It pulled him together, and he became once more the 
unemotional man of business. He kept himself well in hand and 
did not, during the telling of his story, allow his emotion to over¬ 
come him, though at times it was clear all his powers of self- 
control were needed. In a stronger voice he began his statement, 
and his three companions settled themselves more comfortably 
in their chairs to listen. 


a 


CHAPTER XIV 


M. BOIRAC MAKES A STATEMENT 

name and address you know,” began M. Boirac. ‘Tn busi¬ 
ness I am the managing director of the Avrotte Pump Con¬ 
struction Co., whose works are situated off the rue Championnet, 
not far from the Omnibus Co.’s depot. I am fairly well off, 
and we lived comfortably, my wife going a good deal into society. 

'‘On Saturday, the 27th ult., this day fortnight, we had a 
dinner party at the Avenue de I’Alma. Our principal guest was 
the Spanish ambassador, at whose house my wife had visited 
when in Madrid the previous year. Among the others was a M. 
Leon Felix, an old friend of my wife’s, who lived in London, and 
was in some business there. The guests arrived and we sat down 
to dinner, but unfortunately before the meal was concluded a 
telephone message came for me from the works to say that a 
serious accident had happened, and requiring my immediate 
presence. There was nothing for it but to apologise to my guests 
and go off at once, which I did, tMough I promised to return at 
the earliest possible moment. 

"When I reached the works I found that the main bed casting 
of a new 200-h.p. engine which was being put in during the week¬ 
end, had slipped and slewed sideways while being got into place, 
killing one man and seriously injuring two others. One of the 
cylinders was fractured, and the whole casting had jammed be¬ 
tween the wall and the fl 3 rwheel pit and could not be got out. 

"As soon as I saw how serious things were, I telephoned home 
to say I would be very late, and that there would be no chance 
of my returning in time to see my guests. However, we got on 
much better than I expected, and it was barely eleven when I 
turned out of the works. Not seeing a taxi, I walked to the 
Simplon station of the Metro. My route, as you will understand, 
involved a change of trains at Chatelet and I accordingly alighted 
there. I had hardly done so when I was clapped on the back 

130 


M. BOIRAC MAKES A STATEMENT 131 

by some one, and turning, found an American acquaintance called 
Myron H. Burton, with whom I had stayed in the same hotel in 
New York and with whom I had become friendly. We stood in 
talk for some time, and then I asked him where he was staying, 
inviting him to put up at my house instead of returning to his 
hotel. He declined, saying he was going to Orleans by the 12.35 
from the Quai d’Orsay, and asked me to go and see him off and 
have a drink at the station. I hesitated, but remembering I was 
not expected at home, I agreed and we set off. This night being 
mild and pleasant we walked along the quais, but when we 
reached the Port Royal it was barely a quarter to twelve. Bur¬ 
ton suggested continuing our stroll, which we did, going round 
the Place de la Concorde and the end of the Champs Elysees. 
Interested in our talk, we forgot the passage of time, and arrived 
at the Gare Quai d’Orsay with only a minute to spare for my 
friend to catch his train and, therefore, to his apparent great 
chagrin, missing the drinks to which he had wished to treat me. 
I felt wakeful, and began to walk home, but when I had gone 
about half-way, rain began to fall. I looked for a taxi, but could 
not see one, and therefore continued my journey on foot, arriving 
home about one o’clock. 

“Frangois, the butler, met me in the hall. He seemed uneasy. 

“ T heard the front door bang not ten minutes ago, monsieur,’ 
he said, as I took off my wet coat. T got up to see if anything 
was wrong.’ 

“ ‘Got up?’ I said. ‘How had you come to go to bed before 
I returned?’ 

“ ‘Madame told me to, monsieur, about half-past eleven. She 
said you would be very late and that she would be sitting up.’ 

“ ‘All right,’ I said, ‘where is Madame?’ 

“He hesitated. 

“ ‘I don’t know, monsieur,’ he said at length. 

“ ‘Don’t know?’ I said. I was growing angry. ‘Has she gone 
to bed?’ 

“ ‘She has not gone to bed, monsieur,’ he answered. 

“I am not, M. de Chef, an imaginative man, but suddenly a 
feeling of foreboding swept over me. I hurried into the drawing¬ 
room and from that to my wife’s small sitting-room. They were 
both empty. I ran to her bedroom. There was no one there. 


132 


THE CASK 


Then I recollected she had frequently waited for me in my 
study. I went there to find it also untenanted, and I was just 
about to withdraw when I saw on my desk a letter which had not 
been there earlier in the evening. It was addressed to me in my 
wife’s handwriting, and, with a terrible sinking of the heart, I 
opened it. Here, M. le Chef, it is.” 

It was a short note, written on a sheet of cream-laid note- 
paper and without date or address. It read:— 

do not ask you to forgive me for what I am doing to-night, 
Raoul, for I feel it would be quite too much to expect, but I 
do ask you to believe that the thought of the pain and annoyance 
it will be bound to give you cuts me to the heart. You have 
always been just and kind according to your lights, but you 
know, Raoul, as well as I do, that we have never loved each 
other. You have loved your business and your art collection, 
and I have loved—^Leon Felix, and now I am going to him. I 
shall just disappear, and you will never hear of me again. You, 
I hope, will get your divorce, and be happy with some more 
worthy woman. 

‘‘Good-bye, Raoul, and do not think worse of me than you 
can help. Annette.” 

M. Boirac bowed his head while the others read this unhappy 
note. He seemed overcome with emotion, and there was silence 
in the Chief’s room for a few seconds. The sun shone gaily in 
with never a hint of tragedy, lighting up that bent figure in the 
arm-chair, and bringing into pitiless prominence details that 
should have been cloaked decently in shadow, from the drops of 
moisture on the drawn brow to the hands clenched white beneath 
the edge of the desk. Then, as they waited, he pulled himself 
together with an effort and continued:— 

“I was almost beside myself from the blow, and yet I in¬ 
stinctively felt I must act as if nothing had happened. I steadied 
myself and called to Frangois, who was still in the hall:— 

“ ‘It’s all right, Frangois. I’ve had a note from Madame. She 
was obliged to go out at a moment’s notice to catch the Swiss 
train. She had a message that her mother is dying.’ 

“He replied in his ordinary tone, but I could see that he did 
not believe one word. The understanding and the pity in his 


M. BOIRAC MAKES A STATEMENT 133 

eyes almost drove me frantic. I spoke again as carelessly as I 
could,— 

“ T wonder had she time to call Suzanne and get properly 
dressed. You might send her here and then you can get back 
to bed.’ 

“Suzanne was my wife’s maid, and when she came into the 
study I saw from her startled and embarrassed air that she 
knew. 

“ 'Suzanne,’ I said, 'Madame has had to go to Switzerland 
suddenly and unexpectedly. She had to rush off to catch the 
train without proper time for packing, still, I hope she was able 
to take enough for the journey?’ 

“The girl answered at once in a nervous, frightened tone. ‘I 
have just been to her room, monsieur. She has taken her fur 
coat and hat and a pair of walking shoes. The evening shoes 
she was wearing to-night are there where she changed them. 
She did not ring for me and I did not hear her go to her room.’ 

“I had become somewhat calmer by this time, and I was think¬ 
ing rapidly while she spoke. 

“ 'Ah, well,’ I answered, 'you had better pack some of her 
things to-morrow so that I can send them after her. She will 
be staying with her mother, and will no doubt be able to borrow 
what she wants till her own things arrive.’ 

“Frangois was still hanging about the corridor. I sent them 
both to bed and sat down to try and realise what had taken 
place. 

“I need hardly trouble you with my thoughts. For some days 
I was half crazed, then I pulled myself together. Suzanne I 
sent home, saying I had heard from Madame that she was em¬ 
ploying one of her mother’s maids.” 

M. Boirac paused. 

“That,” he said at length, “I think is all I have to tell you, 
M. le Chef. From that awful evening until I saw your adver¬ 
tisement in the Figaro a couple of hours ago, I have not heard a 
syllable from either my wife or Felix.” 

M. Boirac had told his story simply and directly, and his 
manner seemed to bear the impress of truth. The statement 
carried conviction to his hearers, who felt their sympathy going 


134 


THE CASK 


out to this man who had acted so loyally to the wife who had 
betrayed him. M. Chauvet spoke,— 

“Permit me to express to you, M. Boirac, our deep regret for 
what has happened and particularly for your having had to come 
here and make this painful statement. Still more we regret that 
the terrible denouement should make it almost impossible to 
keep the matter hushed up. Our search for the murderer has, 
of course, begun. We shall not detain you any longer, except to 
ask you to repeat a few names and hours so that we may note 
them to make your statement complete.’’ 

M. Boirac bowed. 

“I thank you for your courtesy, M. le Chef.” 

The Chief continued,— 

“There is first of all your address. That we have on your card. 
Next—I shall put it in question form—^What time was dinner?” 

“Quarter to eight.” 

“And what time did the message come for you from your 
works?” 

“About a quarter to nine.” 

“And you arrived there?” 

“About nine-fifteen, I should think, I did not look. I walked 
to the Champs Ely sees and took a taxi.” 

“You said, I think, that you telephoned home then informing 
your wife that you could not return until very late?” 

“I believe I did say that, but it is not strictly correct. I went 
to see the damage immediately on arrival, and was occupied 
there for some time. I should say I telephoned about ten o’clock.” 

“But you unexpectedly got away about eleven?” 

“That is so.” 

“So that you must have met your friend at Chatelet about 
twenty past eleven?” 

“About that, I should think.” 

“Now your friend. I should like a note of his name and 
address.” 

“His name I have already given you, Myron H. Burton. His 
address I unfortunately cannot, as I do not know it.” 

“His home address, then?” 

“I don’t know that, either. I met him in an hotel in New 
York. We played billiards together a few times and became 


M. BOIRAC MAKES A STATEMENT 135 

friendly enough, but not to the extent of exchanging our family 
histories.” 

‘‘When was that, M. Boirac?” 

“In the summer of 1908, no, 1909, three years ago.” 

“And the hotel?” 

“The Hudson View, the one that was burnt out last Christmas.” 

“I remember, a terrible business, that. Your friend went by 
the 12.35 to Orleans. He was staying there I suppose?” 

“No, he was changing there and going on, though where he 
was going I do not know. He told me this because I remarked 
on his choosing such a train—it does not get in until about 4.30 
—instead of sleeping in Paris and going by an early express that 
would do the journey in two hours.” 

“Oh, well, it is not of much importance. The only other thing, 
I think, is the name and address of your wife^s maid.” 

M. Boirac shook his head. 

“I’m sorry I can’t give you that either. I only know her as 
Suzanne. But I dare say Frangois or some of the other servants 
would know it.” 

“I shall have, with your permission, to send a man to look 
over the house, and he can make inquiries. I am sure, M. Boirac, 
we are extremely obliged to you for your information. And 
now, what about the formal identification of the body? I have 
no doubt from what you say it is indeed that of your wife, but I 
fear the law will require a personal identification from you. 
Would it be convenient for you to run over to London and see 
it? Interment has not yet, I understand, taken place.” 

M. Boirac moved uneasily. The suggestion was clearly most 
unwelcome to him. 

“I needn’t say I would infinitely prefer not to go. However, 
if you assure me it is necessary, I can have no choice in the 
matter.” 

“I am exceedingly sorry, but I fear it is quite necessary. A 
personal examination is required in evidence of identification. 
And if I might make a suggestion, I think that the visit should 
be made as soon as convenient to you.” 

The visitor shrugged his shoulders. 

“If I have to go, I may as well do it at once. I will cross 


136 


THE CASK 


to-night and be at Scotland Yard at, say, 11.0 to-morrow. It 
is Scotland Yard, I suppose?” 

“It is, monsieur. Very good. I will telephone to the authori¬ 
ties there to expect you.” 

The Chief rose and shook hands, and M. Boirac took his leave. 
When he had gone, M. Chauvet jumped up and went to the 
screen. 

“Get half a dozen copies of that statement and the questions 
and answers typed at once, mademoiselle. You can get a couple 
of the other girls to help you.” 

He turned to the two detectives. 

“Well, gentlemen, we have heard an interesting story, and, 
whatever we may think of it, our first business will be* to check 
it as far as we can. I think you had better get away imme¬ 
diately to the Avenue de I’Alma and see this Frangois, if possible 
before Boirac gets back. Go through the house and get anything 
you can, especially a sample of the wife’s handwriting. Try 
also and trace the maid. In the meantime, I will set some other 
inquiries on foot. You might call in about nine to-night to re¬ 
port progress.” 


CIi\PTER XV 

THE HOUSE IN THE AVENUE DE l’aLMA 

Burnley and Lefarge took the tram along the quais and, dis¬ 
mounting at the Pont Alma, proceeded up the Avenue on foot. 
The house was a corner one fronting on the Avenue, but with 
the entrance in the side street. It was set a few feet back from 
the footpath, and was a Renaissance building of gray rubble 
masonry, with moulded architraves and enrichments of red sand¬ 
stone and the usual mansard roof. 

The two men mounted the steps leading to the ornate porch. 
On their right were the windows of a large room which formed 
the angle between the two streets. 

^‘You can see into that room rather too clearly for my taste,” 
said Burnley. “Why, if that’s the drawing-room, as it looks to 
be by the furniture, every caller can see Just who’s visiting there 
as they come up to the door.” 

“And conversely, I expect,” returned Lefarge, “the hostess 
can see her visitors coming and be prepared for them.” 

The door was opened by an elderly butler of typical appear¬ 
ance, respectability and propriety oozing out of every pore of 
his sleek face. Lefarge show his card. 

“I regret M. Boirac is not at home, monsieur,” said the man 
politely, “but you will probably find him at the works in the rue 
Championnet.” 

“Thanks,” returned Lefarge, “we have just had an interview 
with Mr. Boirac, and it is really you we wish to see.” 

The butler ushered them into a small sitting-room at the back 
of the hall. 

“Yes, messieurs?” he saicj. 

“Did you see an advertisement in this morning’s papers for 
the identification of a lady’s body?” 

“I saw it, monsieur.” 

“I am sorry to say it was that of your mistress.” 

137 


138 


THE CASK 


Francois shook his head sadly. 

‘T feared as much, monsieur,” he said in a low tone. 

^‘M. Boirac saw the advertisement also. He came just now 
to the Surete and identified the remains beyond any doubt. It is 
a painful case, for I regret to tell you she had been murdered 
in a rather brutal way, and now we are here with M. Boirac’s 
approval to make some inquiries.” 

The old butler’s face paled. 

^‘Murdered!” he repeated in a horrified whisper. ‘Tt couldn’t 
be. No one that knew her could do that. Every one, messieurs, 
loved Madame. She was just an angel of goodness.” 

The man spoke with real feeling in his voice and seemed over¬ 
come with emotion. 

“Well, messieurs,” he continued, after a pause, “any help I 
can give you to get your hands on the murderer I’ll give with 
real delight, and I only hope you’ll succeed soon.” 

“I hope so too, Frangois. We’ll do our best anyway. Now, 
please, will you answer some questions. You remember M. Boirac 
being called to the works on Saturday the 27th of March, the 
evening of the dinner party, at about a quarter to nine. That 
was about the time, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“He went out at once?” 

“He did, monsieur.” 

“Then he telephoned at about half-past ten that he could 
not return until later. Was that about the time?” 

“Rather earlier than that, I should think, monsieur. I don’t 
remember exactly, but I should think it was very little, if at all, 
past ten.” 

“About ten, you think? Can you tell me what words he used 
in that message?” 

“He said the accident was serious, and that he would be very 
late, and possibly might not get back before the morning.” 

“You told your mistress, I suppose? Did the guests hear 
you?” 

“No, monsieur, but Madame immediately repeated the mes¬ 
sage aloud.” 

“What happened then?” 


THE HOUSE IN THE AVENUE DE L’ALMA 139 

“Shortly after that, about 11.00 or 11.15, the guests began to 
leave. 

“All of them?’» 

The butler hesitated. 

“There was one, a M. Felix, who waited after the others. He 
was differently situated to them, being a friend of the family. 
The others were merely acquaintances.’^ 

“And how long did he wait after the others?” 

Frangois looked confused and did not immediately reply. 

“Well, I don’t know, monsieur,” he said slowly. “You see, 
it was this way. I happened to have a rather bad headache that 
evening, and Madame asked me if I was not well—it was just 
like her to notice such a thing—and she told me to go to bed 
and not to sit up for Monsieur. She said M. Felix was waiting 
to get some books and would let himself out.” 

“So you went to bed?” 

“Yes, monsieur. I thanked her, and went after a little time.” 

“About how long?” 

“Perhaps half an hour.” 

“And had M. Felix gone then?” 

“No, monsieur, not at that time.” 

“And what happened then?” 

“I fell asleep, but woke up suddenly again after about an hour. 
I felt better and I thought I would see if Monsieur was in and 
if everything was properly locked up. I got up and went towards 
the hall, but just as I came to the staircase I heard the front 
door close. I thought, ‘That’s Monsieur coming in,’ but there 
was no sound of any one moving in the hall and I went down to 
see.” 

“Yes?” 

“There was no one there, so I looked into the different rooms. 
They were all empty, though lighted up. I thought to myself, 
‘This is strange,’ and I went to find Suzanne, Madame’s maid, 
who was sitting up for her. I asked her had Madame gone to 
bed, but she said not. ‘Well^ I said, ‘she’s not downstairs. Bet¬ 
ter go up and see if she’s in her room.’ She went and came down 
in a moment looking frightened, and said the room was empty, 
but that Madame’s hat and fur coat and a pair of walking shoes 
were gone. Her evening shoes that she had been wearing were 


140 


THE CASK 


lying on the floor, where she had changed them. I went up my¬ 
self and we searched around, and then I heard the latch of the 
front door again and went down. Monsieur was just coming in 
and, as I took his coat and hat, I told him about hearing the 
door close. He asked where Madame was, and I answered I did 
not know. He looked himself, and in the study he found a note 
which I suppose was from her, for after he had read it he asked 
no more questions, but told me she had had to go to Switzerland 
to her mother, who was ill. But I knew when he got rid of 
Suzanne two days later that she wasn’t coming back.” 

^‘What time did M. Boirac come in?” 

^‘About one o’clock, or a few minutes after.” 

‘‘Were his hat and coat wet?” 

“Not very wet, monsieur, but he had been evidently walking 
through rain.” 

“You didn’t make any further search to see if anything else 
had been taken, I suppose?” 

“Yes, monsieur. Suzanne and I searched the entire house 
most thoroughly on Sunday.” 

“With no result?” 

“None, monsieur.” 

“I suppose the body could not have been concealed anywhere 
in the house?” 

The butler started as this new idea struck him. 

“Why, no, monsieur,” he said, “it would have been absolutely 
impossible. I myself looked in every spot and opened every¬ 
thing large enough to contain it.” 

“Thank you, I think that’s about all I want to know. Can 
you put me in touch with Suzanne?” 

“I believe I can get you her address, monsieur, from one of 
the parlourmaids with whom she was friends.” 

“Please do, and in the meantime we shall have a look through 
the house.” 

“You will not require me, monsieur?” 

“No, thanks.” 

The plan of the downstairs rooms was simple. The hall, 
which was long and rather narrow, stretched back from the 
entrance door in the rue St. Jean to the staircase in a direction 
parallel to the Avenue de I’Alma. On the right was the drawing- 


THE HOUSE IN THE AVENUE DE L^ALMA 141 


room, a large apartment in the angle between the two streets, 
with windows looking out on both. Across the hall, with its door 
facing that of the drawing-room, was the study, another fine 
room facing on to the rue St. Jean. A small sitting-room, used 
chiefly by the late Madame Boirac, and the dining-room were 
situated behind the study and the drawing-room respectively. 
To the rear of the doors of these latter rooms were the staircase 
and servants’ quarters. 

The detectives examined these respective rooms in detail. The 
furnishing was luxurious and artistic. The drawing-room furni¬ 
ture was Louis Quatorze, with an Aubusson carpet and some 
cabinets and tables of buhl. There was just enough of good 
Sevres and Ormolu, the whole selection of arrangement reflect¬ 
ing the taste of the connoisseur. The dining-room and boudoir 
gave the same impression of wealth and culture, and the detec¬ 
tives as they passed from room to room were impressed by the 
excellent taste everywhere exhibited. Though their search was 
exhaustive it was unfortunately without result. 

The study was a typical man’s room, except in one respect. 
There was the usual thick carpet on the floor, the customary book- 
lined walls, the elaborate desk in the window, and the huge leather 
arm-chairs. But there was also what almost amounted to a col¬ 
lection of statuary—figures, groups, friezes, plaques, and reliefs, 
in marble and bronze. A valuable lot, numerous enough and 
of sufficient excellence not to have disgraced the art galleries of a 
city. M. Boirac had clearly the knowledge, as well as the means, 
to indulge his hobby to a very full extent. 

Burnley took his stand inside the door and looked slowly 
round the room, taking in its every detail in the rather despair¬ 
ing hope that he would see something helpful to his quest. Twice 
he looked at the various objects before him, observing in the 
slow, methodical way in which he had trained himself, making 
sure that he had a clear mental conception of each before going 
on to the next. And then his gaze became riveted on an object 
standing on one of the shelves. 

It was a white marble group about two feet high ^f three 
garlanded women, two standing and one sitting. 

“I say,” he said to Lefarge, in a voice of something approach¬ 
ing triumph, “have you heard of anything like that lately?” 


142 


THE CASK 


There was no reply, and Burnley, who had not been observing 
his companion, looked around. Lefarge was on his knees ex¬ 
amining with a lens something hidden among the thick pile of 
the carpet. He was entirely engrossed, and did not appear to 
have heard Burnley’s remark, but as the latter moved over he 
rose to his feet with a satisfied little laugh. 

“Look here!” he cried. “Look at this!” 

Stepping back to the cross wall adjoining the door, he crouched 
down with his head close to the floor and his eyes fixed on a point 
on the carpet in a line between himself and the window. 

“Do you see anything?” he asked. 

Burnley got into the same position, and looked at the carpet. 

“No,” he answered slowly, “I do not.” 

“You’re not far enough this way. Come here. Now look.” 

“Jove!” Burnley cried, with excitement in his tones. “The 
cask!” 

On the carpet, showing up faintly where the light struck it, was 
a ring-shaped mark about two feet four inches diameter. The 
pile was slightly depressed below the general surface, as might 
have been caused by the rim of a heavy cask. 

“I thought so too,” said Lefarge, “but this makes it quite 
certain.” 

He held out his lens, and indicated the part of the floor he 
had been scrutinising. 

Burnley knelt down and, using the lens, began to push open 
the interstices of the pile. They were full of a curious kind of 
dust. He picked out some and examined it on his hand. 

“Sawdust!” he exclaimed. 

“Sawdust,” returned the other, in a pleased and important 
tone. “See here”—^he traced a circle on the floor—“sawdust has 
been spilled over all this, and there’s where the cask stood beside 
it. I tell you, Burnley, mark my words, we are on to it now. 
That’s where the cask stood while Felix, or Boirac, or both of 
them^ together, packed the body into it.” 

“By Jove!” Burnley cried again, as he turned over this new 
idea in his mind. “I shouldn’t wonder if you are right!” 

“Of course I’m right. The thing’s as plain as a pike-staff. A 
woman disappears and her body is found packed in sawdust in a 
cask, and here, in the very house where she vanishes, is the mark 


THE HOUSE IN THE AVENUE DE L’ALMA 143 

of the same cask—a very unusual size, mind you—as well as 
traces of the sawdust.” 

“Ay, it’s likely enough. But I don’t see the way of it for all 
that. If Felix did it, how could he have got the cask here and 
away again?” 

“It was probably Boirac.” 

“But the alibi? Boirac’s alibi is complete.” 

“It’s complete enough, so far as that goes. But how do we 
know it’s true? We have had no real confirmation of it so far.” 

“Except from Frangois. If either Boirac or Felix did it, 
Frangois must have been in it, too, and that doesn’t strike me as 
likely.” 

“No, I admit the old chap seems all right. But if they didn’t 
do it, how do you account for the cask being here?” 

“Maybe that had something to do with it,” answered Burnley, 
pointing to the marble group. 

Lefarge started. 

“But that’s what was sent to Felix, surely?” he cried, in 
surprise. 

“It looks like it, but don’t say anything. Here’s Frangois. 
Let us ask him.” 

The butler entered the room holding a slip of paper which he 
gave to Lefarge. 

“Suzanne’s address, messieurs.” Lefarge read:— 

“Mile. Suzanne Daudet, 

“rue Dopeau, 14b, 

“Dijon.” 

“Look here, Frangois,” said the detective, pointing to the 
marble group. “When did that come here?” 

“Quite recently, monsieur. As you see. Monsieur is a collector 
of such things, and that is, I think, the latest addition.” 

“Can you remember the exact day it arrivedi” 

“It was about the time of the dinner-party, in fact, I remem¬ 
ber now distinctly. It was that very day.” 

“How was it packed?” 

“It was in a cask, monsieur. It was left in here that Saturday 
morning with the top boards loosened for Monsieur to unpack. 
He never would trust any one to do that for him.” 


144 


THE CASK 


‘‘Was he, then, in the habit of getting these casks?” 

“Yes, monsieur, a good many of the statues came in casks.” 

‘T see. And when was this one unpacked?” 

“Two days later, monsieur, on Monday evening.” 

“And what happened to the cask?” 

“It was returned to the shop. Their cart called for it two or 
three days later.” 

. “You don’t remember exactly when?” 

The butler paused in thought. 

“I do not, monsieur. It was on the Wednesday or Thursday 
following, I believe, but I’m not positive.” 

“Thank you, Frangois. There is one other thing I should be 
greatly obliged if you could do for me. Get me a sample of 
Madame’s writing.” 

Frangois shook his head. 

“I haven’t such a thing, monsieur,” he replied, “but I can 
show you her desk, if you would care to look over it.” 

They went into the boudoir, and Frangois pointed out a small 
davenport finished with some delicate carving and with inlaid 
panels, a beautiful example of the cabinetmaker’s art. Lefarge 
seated himself before it and began to go through the papers it 
contained. 

“Somebody’s been before us,” he said. “There’s precious little 
here.” 

He produced a number of old receipted bills and circulars, 
with some unimportant letters and printed papers, but not a scrap 
in Madame’s handwriting could he discover. 

Suddenly Frangois gave an exclamation. 

“I believe I can get you what you want, messieurs, if you will 
wait a moment.” 

“Yes,” he said, as he returned a few seconds later, “this will 
perhaps do. It was framed in the servants’ hall.” 

It was a short document giving the work of the different 
servants, their hours of duty, and other similar information, and 
was written in the hand, so far as the detectives could recollect, 
of the letter of farewell to M. Boirac. Lefarge put it away care¬ 
fully in his notebook. 

“Now let us see Madame’s room.” 

They examined the bedroom, looking particularly for old let- 


THE HOUSE IN THE AVENUE DE L’ALMA 145 


ters, but without success. Next they interviewed the other 
servants, also fruitlessly. 

“All we want now,” said Lefarge to the old butler, “is a list of 
the guests at that dinner, or at least some of them.” 

“I can tell you, I think, all of them, monsieur,” returned 
Frangois, and Lefarge noted the names in his book. 

“What time is M. Boirac likely to return?” asked Burnley, 
when they had finished. 

“He should have been here before this, monsieur. He generally 
gets back by half-past six.” 

It was now nearly seven, and, as they waited, they heard 
his latchkey in the door. 

“Ah, messieurs,” he greeted them, “so you are here already. 
Any luck?” 

“No luck so far, M. Boirac,” replied Lefarge, continuing after 
a pause: “There is a point on which we should be obliged for 
some information, monsieur. It is about this marble group.” 

“Yes?” 

“Could you tell us the circumstances under v^rhich you got it, 
and of its arrival here?” 

“Certainly. I am a collector of such articles, as you must 
have noticed. Some time ago, in passing Dupierre’s in the 
Boulevard des Capucines, I saw that group and admired it 
greatly. After some hesitation I ordered it and it arrived—I 
believe it was the very day of—of the dinner-party, either that 
or the day before—I am not positive. I had the cask containing 
it brought into the study to unpack myself—I always enjoy un¬ 
packing a new purchase—but I was so upset by what had 
happened I hadn’t much heart in doing so. However, on the fol¬ 
lowing Monday evening, to try and distract my thoughts, I did 
unpack it, and there you see the result.” 

“Can you tell me, monsieur,” asked Burnley, “was M. Felix 
also interested in such things?” 

“He was. He is an artist and painting is therefore his specialty,, 
but he had a good knowledge of sculpture also.” 

“He wasn’t interested in that particular group, I suppose?” 

“Well, I can hardly tell you that. I told him about it and 
described it to him, but) of course, so far as I am aware he had 
not seen it.” 


146 


THE CASK 


‘‘Did you happen to mention the price?” 

“I did, fourteen hundred francs. That was the thing he 
specially asked. That, and the shop at which I had bought it.« 
He said he could not afford it then, but that at some time he 
might try and get another.” 

“Well, I think that’s all we want to know. Our best thanks, 
M. Boirac.” 

“Good-evening, messieurs.” 

They bowed themselves out, and, walking to the top of the 
Avenue, took the Metro to Concorde, from which they passed up 
the Rue Castiglione to the Grands Boulevards to dine and spend 
the time until they were due back at the Surete. 


CHAPTER XVI 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY UP AGAINST IT 

At nine o’clock that evening the usual meeting was held in the 
Chief’s room at the Surete. 

‘T also have had some news,” said M. Chauvet, when he had 
heard Burnley’s and Lefarge’s reports. sent a man up to that 
pump manufactory and he found out enough to substantiate 
entirely Boirac’s statement of the hours at which he arrived 
there and left on the night of the accident. There is also a 
despatch from Scotland Yard. On receipt of Mr. Burnley’s wire 
immediate inquiries were made about the cask sent by Havre 
and Southampton. It appears it arrived all right at Waterloo 
on the morning after it was despatched from here. It was booked 
through, as you know, to an address near Tottenham Court Road,"^ 
and the railway people would in the ordinary course have de¬ 
livered it by one of their lorries. But just as it was being re¬ 
moved from the van of the train, a man stepped forward and 
claimed it, saying he was the consignee, that he wished to take it 
to another address, and that he had a cart and man there for 
the purpose. He was a man of about medium height, with dark 
hair and beard, and the clerk thought he was a foreigner, probably 
French. He gave his name as Leon Felix and produced several 
envelopes addressed to himself at the Tottenham Court Road 
address as identification. He signed for, and was handed over 
the cask, and took it away. His movements after that were com¬ 
pletely lost sight of, and no further traces of him have been 
discovered. A photo of Felix was shown to the Waterloo people, 
but while the clerk said it was like the man, neither he nor any 
of the others would swear to it. 

^‘Inquiries have also been made about Felix. It turns out he is 
an artist or designer in Messrs. Greer and Hood’s, the advertise¬ 
ment and poster people of Fleet Street. He is not married, but 
keeps an elderly servant-housekeeper. This woman was on a 

147 


148 THE CASK 

fortnight’s holiday from the 25th of March to the 8th of this 
month. 

“So much for London,” continued M. Chauvet. “Now, let us 
see what we have still to do. First, that lady’s maid at Dijon 
must be interviewed. I think, Lefarge, you might do that. To¬ 
morrow is Sunday. Suppose you go to-morrow. You can sleep 
at Dijon, and get back as early as possible on Monday. Then, 
Mr. Burnley, that matter of the statue sent to M. Boirac must 
be gone into. Perhaps you would be good enough to make in¬ 
quiries at Dupierre’s on Monday morning, and please keep in 
touch with me by phone. I will look into some other points, 
and we shall meet here at the same time that evening.” 

The detective took the Metro at Chatelet, Burnley going west 
to his hotel in the rue Castiglione, and Lefarge east to the Gare 
de Lyons. 

On Monday morning Burnley called to see M. Thomas at the 
showroom in the Boulevard des Capucines. 

“I’m back again, M. Thomas,” he said, as they greeted one 
another. He explained what had been learned about the casks 
at the Gare St. Lazare, continuing, “So you see, two must have 
been sent out. Now, can you give me any information about the 
sending out of the second cask?” 

“'Absolutely none, monsieur,” returned Thomas, who was evi¬ 
dently amazed at this new development, “I am quite positive 
we only sent one.” 

“I suppose it’s impossible that Felix’s order could have been 
dealt with twice in error, once by you here, and once by the head 
office in the rue Provence?” 

“I should say quite, because they do not stock the good work 
there, it is all stored and dealt with here. But if you like I’ll 
phone the head office now, and make quite sure.” 

In a few minutes there was a reply from M. Thevenet. No 
cask of any kind had been sent out from the rue Provence 
establishment on or about the date mentioned, and none at any 
time to Felix. 

“Well, M. Thomas, it’s certain, is it not? that one of your 
casks was sent by Rouen and long sea about the 1st instant. 
Do you think you could let me have a list of all the casks of 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY UP AGAINST IT 149 

that size that were out of your yard on that date? It must have 
been one of them.” 

“Yes, I suppose it must. I think I can give you that informa¬ 
tion, but it will take some time to get out.” 

“I’m sorry for giving you the trouble, but I see no other way. 
We shall have to follow up each of these casks until we find the 
right one.” 

M. Thomas promised to put the work in hands without delay, 
and Burnley continued:— 

“There is another point. Could you tell me something about 
your dealings with M. Raoul Boirac, of the Avenue de I’Alma, 
and particularly of any recent sales you made him?” 

“M. Boirac? Certainly. He is a very good customer of ours 
and a really well-informed amateur. For the last six years, since 
I was appointed manager here, we must have sold him thirty or 
forty thousand francs worth of stuff. Every month or two he 
would drop in, take a look round, and select some really good 
piece. We always advised him of anything new we came across 
and as often as not be became a purchaser. Of recent sales,” 
M. Thomas consulted some papers, “the last thing we sold him 
was, curiously enough, the companion piece of that ordered by 
Felix. It was a marble group of three female figures, two stand¬ 
ing and one seated. It was ordered on the 2Sth of March, and 
sent out on the 27th.” 

“Was it sent in a cask?” 

“It was. We always use the same packing.” 

“And has the cask been returned?” 

M. Thomas rang for a clerk and asked for some other papers. 

“Yes,” he said, when he had looked over them, “the cask sent 
to M. Boirac on the 27th of last month was returned here on the 
1st instant.” 

“One other point, M. Thomas. How can one distinguish be¬ 
tween the two groups, that sent to M. Felix, and that to 
M. Boirac?” 

“Very easily. Both consist of three female figures, but in 
M. Felix’s two were seated and one standing, while in M. Boirac’s 
two were standing and one seated.” 

“Thank you very much. That’s all I want.” 

“Not at all. Where shall I send that list of casks?” 


150 


THE CASK 


‘‘To the Surete, if you please,” and with a further exchange 
of compliments the two men parted. 

Burnley was both mystified and somewhat disappointed by the 
information M. Thomas had given him. He had been really 
impressed by Lefarge’s discovery that a cask containing saw¬ 
dust had recently been opened in M. Boirac’s study, though he 
had not admitted it at the time. His friend’s strongly expressed 
opinion that either Felix or Boirac, or both, had at that time 
packed the body in the cask had seemed more and more likely, 
the longer he had thought it over. There were, however, diffi¬ 
culties in the theory. First, as he had pointed out to Lefarge, 
there was the personality of Frangois. He felt he would stake 
his reputation on Frangois’ innocence, and without the butler’s 
co-operation he did not see how the murder could have been car¬ 
ried through. Then, what possible motive could either of the 
men named have had for desiring the death of the lady? These 
and other difficulties he had foreseen, but he had not considered 
them insuperable. Possibly, in spite of them, they were on the 
right track. But now all hopes of that were dashed. The ex¬ 
planation of M. BoiraC of the presence of the cask was complete, 
and it had been confirmed by Frangois. This perhaps was not 
conclusive, but M. Thomas had confirmed it also, and Burnley 
felt the evidence of its truth was overwhelming. The body could 
not therefore have been packed in the cask, because it had been 
returned direct from M. Boirac’s to the showrooms. Reluctantly 
he felt Lefarge’s theory must be abandoned, and, what was much 
worse, he had no other to substitute. 

Another point struck him. If he could find out the hour at 
which Felix had reached his hotel on the fatal evening, and his 
condition on arrival, it might confirm or disprove some of the 
statements they had heard. Therefore, having phoned to the 
Surete and finding he was not required there, he turned his 
steps again to the Hotel Continental and asked for the manager. 

“I’m afraid I am back to give more trouble, monsieur,” he 
said, as they met, “but one point has arisen upon which we 
want some information.” 

“I shall be pleased to assist you as far as I can.” 

“We want to know at what hour M. Felix returned to the 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY UP AGAINST IT 151 

hotel on the night of Saturday fortnight, the 27th March, and 
his condition on arrival. Can you get us that?” 

“I’ll make inquiries. Excuse me a moment.” 

The manager was gone a considerable time. When he returned 
after more than half an hour he shook his head. 

“I can’t find out,” he said. “I’ve asked every one I can think 
of, but no one knows. One of the hall porters was on duty that 
evening up till midnight, and he is positive he did not come in 
before that hour. This is a very reliable man and I think you 
may take what he says as accurate. The man who relieved him 
is off duty at present, as is also the night lift boy, and the cham¬ 
bermaid on late duty in M. Felix’s corridor, but I will interview 
them later and let you know the result. I presume that will be 
time enough?” 

“Certainly,” and with thanks Burnley withdrew. 

He lunched alone, greatly regretting M. Lefarge’s absence, 
and then called up the Surete again. M. Chauvet wanted to 
speak to him, he was told, and soon he was switched through 
to the great man’s private room. 

“There has been another wire from London,” said the distant 
voice, “and it seems a cask was sent by passenger train from 
Charing Cross to Paris via Dover and Calais on Thursday week, 
the 1st of April, consigned to M. Jaques de Belleville, from 
Raymond Lemaitre. I think you had better go to the Gare du 
Nord and find out something about it.” 

“How* many more casks are we going to find?” thought the 
puzzled Burnley, as he drove in the direction of the station. As 
the taxi slipped through the crowded streets he again took stock 
of his position, and had to admit himself completely at sea. The 
information they gained—and there was certainly plenty coming 
in—did not work into a connected whole, but each fresh piece 
of evidence seemed, if not actually to conflict with some other, 
at least to add to the tangle to be straightened out. When in 
England he had thought Felix innocent. Now he was beginning 
to doubt this conclusion. 

He had not Lefarge’s card to show to the clerk in the parcels 
office, but fortunately the latter remembered him as having been 
with the French detective on their previous call. 

“Yes,” he said, v/hen Burnley had explained, in his somewhat 


152 


THE CASK 


halting French, what he wanted, can tell you about that cask.” 
He turned up some papers. 

^‘Here we are,” he said. “The cask came off the Calais boat 
train at 5.45 p.m. on Thursday week, the 1st instant. It was 
consigned from Charing Cross to M. Jaques de Belleville, to be 
kept here until called for. He claimed it personally almost 
immediately after, and removed it on a cart he had brought.” 

“Can you describe M. de Belleville?” 

“He was of medium height and dark, with a black beard. I 
did not take special notice of him.” 

Burnley produced a photograph of Felix he had received from 
London. 

“Is that the man?” he asked, handing it over. 

The clerk scrutinised it carefully. 

“I could hardly say,” he replied hesitatingly, “it’s certainly 
like my recollection of him, but I am not sure. Remember I 
only saw him once, and that about ten days ago.” 

“Of course, you could hardly be expected to remember. Can 
you tell me another thing? What time did he take the cask 
away?” 

“I can tell you that because I book off duty at 5.15, and I 
waited five minutes after that to finish the business. He left at 
5.20 exactly.” 

“I suppose there was nothing that attracted your attention 
about the cask, nothing to differentiate it from other casks?” 

“As a matter of fact,” returned the clerk, “there were two 
things. First, it was exceedingly well and strongly made and 
bound with thicker iron hoops than any I had previously seen, 
and secondly, it was very heavy. It took two men to get it from 
here to the cart that M. de Belleville had brought.” 

“You didn’t notice any lettering on it, other than the labels?” 

“I did,” he answered, “there was ‘Return to’ in French, Eng¬ 
lish, and German, and the name of a Paris firm.” 

“Do you recollect the name?” 

The young man paused in thought. 

“No, monsieur,” he replied, after a few seconds, “I regret to 
say I have quite forgotten it.” 

“I suppose you wouldn’t recognise it if you heard it? It was 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY UP AGAINST IT 153 

not, for example, Messrs. Dupierre, the monumental sculptors, of 
Grenelle?’^ 

The clerk hesitated again. 

“Possibly it was, monsieur, but I fear I could not say 
definitely.’’ 

“Well, I am greatly obliged for what you have told me, any 
way. Just one other question. What was in the cask?” 

“It was invoiced Statuary^ but of course I did not see it opened, 
and don’t know if the description was correct.” 

Burnley thanked the young man and turned out of the great 
station. Certainly it sounded as if this was a similar cask to 
that he had taken to Scotland Yard, if it was not the same one. 
Of course, he had to remember that even if it were one of Messrs 
Dupierre’s, which was not proven, there were a large number of 
these casks in circulation, and it did not follow that this one 
was connected with his quest. But the whole circumstances 
gave him to think, and he felt that his bewilderment was not les¬ 
sened by the new development. As he walked slowly down 
the rue de Lafayette towards his hotel, he racked his brains in 
the endeavour to piece together into a conncted whole the vari¬ 
ous facts he had learnt. He strolled on into the Tuileries and, 
choosing a quiet spot under a tree, sat down to think the matter 
out. 

And first, as to these mysterious journeyings of casks. He 
went over the three in his mind. First, there was the cask sent 
out by Messrs. Dupierre on the Tuesday evening after the dinner¬ 
party, which travelled via Havre and Southampton, and which 
was received at Waterloo on the following morning by a black- 
bearded man, believed to have been Felix. That cask was ad¬ 
dressed to Felix and it contained a statue. Then there was the 
second cask, sent out from Paris two days later—on the Thurs¬ 
day evening—^which went via Rouen and long sea, and which 
was undoubtedly received at St. Katherine’s Docks by Felix. 
This number two cask contained the body of Madame Annette 
Boirac. And finally, there was what he might call number three 
cask, which was sent from London to Paris on that same Thurs¬ 
day, and which was claimed on arrival at the Gare du Nord 
by a M. Jaques de Belleville. This cask, like both the others, 


154 THE CASK 

was labelled ‘‘Statuary/’ but whether that was really its contents 
was not known. 

The Inspector lit one of his strong cigars and puffed thought¬ 
fully, as he turned these journeys over in his mind. He could 
not but think there was some connection between them, though 
at first he could not trace it. Then it occurred to him that if they 
were considered, not in the order of their discovery, but chrono¬ 
logically, some light might be gained. He went over them 
anew. The first journey was still that from Paris to London 
via Havre and Southampton, leaving Paris on Tuesday night 
and arriving at Waterloo on Wednesday morning. The second 
was now that leaving London on Thursday morning and reach¬ 
ing Paris that afternoon, via Dover and Calais, and the third 
that from Paris to London via Rouen, leaving on that same 
Thursday evening, and arriving at St. Katherine’s Docks on the 
following Monday. That is, from Paris to London, back from 
London to Paris, and back again from Paris to London. This 
seemed to show an element of design. And then a possible con¬ 
nection flashed across his mind. Instead of three casks might 
there not have been only one? Did the same cask not travel 
in each case? 

The more Burnley thought over this, the more likely it seemed. 
This would explain M. Thomas’s statement that only one cask 
had been sent out. It would make clear how the cask contain¬ 
ing the body had been obtained. It would account for the 
astonishing coincidence that three casks of this unusual kind had 
made three such journeys almost at the same time. 

Yes, it seemed probable. But if so, at some point in that 
triple journey the cask must have been opened, the statue re¬ 
moved, and the body substituted. The evidence was over¬ 
whelming that the cask had contained a statue when it left the 
Boulevard des Capucines yard, and that it had not been tampered 
with till it reached the van of the 7.47 p.m. from the Gare St. 
Lazare to Havre. Further, it had contained the body on arrival 
at St. Katherine’s Docks, and here again there was evidence that 
it could not have been opened in the hold of the Bullfinch. 
Therefore, at some point along the route, Gare St. Lazare, Havre, 
Southampton, Waterloo, Charing Cross, Dover, Calais, Gare du 
Nord, rue Cardinet goods station, Rouen, the change must have 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY UP AGAINST IT 155 

been made. Burnley made a mental note that every part of 
that journey must be the subject of the closest inquiry. 

He went a step further. At the end of each of the three 
journeys it was met by a middle-sized, black-bearded, French- 
looking man. In the case of the third journey that man was 
Felix. In the two earlier, his identity was not definitely known, 
but he was like Felix. Suppose it was Felix in each case, would 
not this also tend to prove there was only one cask, and that 
Felix was sending it backwards and forwards with some design 
of his own? The Inspector felt sure that he was right so far. 

But if Felix had acted in this way, it followed that either 
he was the murderer and wished to get the body to his house 
to dispose of it there, or else he was an innocent man upon whom 
the real criminal wished to plant the corpse. This latter idea 
had been growing in the Inspector’s mind for some time. It 
seemed to hinge very much on the question, Did Felix know what 
was in the cask when he met it at St. Katherine’s Docks? 
Burnley recalled the scene at Scotland Yard when it was opened. 
Either Felix was an incomparable actor, or else he did not know. 
Burnley doubted even whether any acting could have been so 
realistic. He remembered also that Felix’s illness from the 
shock was genuine. No, he rather believed Felix knew nothing 
of the corpse and, if so, he must be innocent. The point was 
one Burnley felt he could not settle alone. They must have 
medical evidence. 

But if Felix was innocent, who was likely to be guilty? Who 
else could have had any motive to kill this lady? What could 
that motive have been, in any case? He could not tell. No 
evidence had yet come to light to suggest the motive. 

His thoughts turned from the motive to the manner of the 
crime. Strangulation was an unusual method. It was, more¬ 
over, a horrible method, ghastly to witness and comparatively 
slow in accomplishment. Burnley could not imagine any one, 
no matter how brutal, deliberately adopting it and carrying 
it out in cold blood. No, this was a crime of passion. Some of 
the elemental forces of love and hate were involved. Jealousy, 
most probably. He considered it in his careful, methodical way. 
Yes, jealousy certainly seemed the most likely motive. 

And then another point struck him. Surely strangulation 


156 


THE CASK 


would only be adopted, even in the heat of passion, if no other 
method was available. If a man about to commit a murder 
had a weapon in his hand, he would use it. Therefore, thought 
Burnley, in this case the murderer could have had no weapon. 
And if he had no weapon, what followed from that? Why, that 
the crime was unpremeditated. If the affair had been planned, 
a weapon would have been provided. 

It seemed, therefore, probably that the crime was not de¬ 
liberate and cold-blooded. Some one, when alone with Madame, 
had been suddenly and unexpectedly roused to a pitch of furious, 
overmastering passion. And here again, what more likely to 
cause this passion than acute jealousy? 

The Inspector lit another cigar, as he continued his train 
of thought. If the motive was what he suspected, who would 
be a likely person to feel jealousy in reference to Madame? A 
former lover, he thought. So far they knew of none, and 
Burnley took a mental note that inquiries must be made to 
ascertain if such existed. Failing a former lover, the husband 
immediately came into his mind, and here he seemed on firmer 
ground. If Madame had had an understanding with Felix, 
and Boirac had come to know of it, there was the motive at 
once. Jealousy was what one would naturally expect Boirac to 
feel under such circumstances. There was no doubt that, so 
far as the facts had as yet come to light, Boirac’s guilt was a 
possibility they must not overlook. 

The Inspector then turned his thoughts to a general review of 
the whole case. He was a great believer in getting things on 
paper. Taking out his notebook, he proceeded to make a list 
of the facts so far as they were known, in the order of their 
occurrence, irrespective of when they were discovered. 

First of all was the dinner party at M. Boirac's, which took 
place on Saturday evening, the 27th of March. At this Felix 
was present, and, when Boirac was called away to his works, he 
remained behind, alone with Madame Boirac, after the other 
guests had left. He was alone with her from 11.0 p.m. till at 
least 11.30, on the evidence of Francois. About one in the 
morning, Frangois heard the front door close, and, coming down, 
found that both Felix and Madame had disappeared. Madame 
had changed her shoes and taken a coat and hat. On Boirac's 


INSPECTOR BURNLEY UP AGAINST IT 


157 


return, a few minutes later, he found a note from his wife 
stating that she had eloped with Felix. Felix was believed to 
have gone to London next day, this having been stated by the 
manager of the Hotel Continental, as well as by Felix to his 
friend Martin outside the house when Constable Walker was 
listening in the lane. On that Sunday or the Monday follow¬ 
ing, a letter, apparently written by Felix, was posted in London. 
It contained an order on Messrs. Dupierre to send a certain 
group of statuary to that city. This letter was received by 
the firm on Tuesday. On the same day, Tuesday, the statue 
was packed in a cask and despatched to London via Havre and 
Southampton. It reached Waterloo on the following morning, 
and was removed from there by a man who claimed to be Felix, 
and probably was. The next morning, Thursday, a similar cask 
was despatched from Charing Cross to the Gare du Nord in 
Paris, being met by a man giving his name as Jaques de Belle¬ 
ville, but who was probably Felix. The same evening, some 
fifty minutes later, a similar cask was delivered at the goods 
station of the State Railway in the rue Cardinet, for despatch 
to London via Rouen and long sea. Next day, Friday, Felix 
stated he received a typewritten letter purporting to be from 
Le Gautier, telling about the lottery and the bet, stating the 
cask was being sent by long sea, and asking him to get it to 
his house. On the following morning, Saturday, he had a card 
from the same source, saying the cask had left, and on Monday, 
the 5th of April, he got the cask from the Bullfinch at St. 
Katherine’s Docks, and took it home. 

Burnley’s list then read as follows:— 

Saturday, March 27.—Dinner at M. Boirac’s. Madame 
disappears. 

Sunday, March 28.—Felix believed to cross to London. 

Monday, March 29.—Felix writes to Dupierre, ordering 
statue. 

Tuesday, March 30.—Order received by Dupierre. Statue 
despatched via Havre and Southampton. 

Wednesday, March 31.—Cask claimed at Waterloo, ap¬ 
parently by Felix. 


158 


THE CASK 


Thursday, April 1.—Cask sent from Charing Cross. Cask 
met at Gare du Nord. Cask delivered at rue Cardinet 
goods station for despatch to London. 

Friday, April 2.—Felix receives Le Gautier’s letter. 
Saturday, April 3.—Felix receives Le Gautier’s card. 
Monday, April 5.—Felix meets cask at docks. 

Some other points he added below, which did not fall into 
the chronological scheme. 

1. The typescript letter produced by Felix purporting to be 

from Le Gautier about the lottery, the bet, and the 
test with the cask, and the typescript slip in the cask 
about the return of a £50 loan, were done by the same 
machine, on the same paper. 

2. The letter from Felix to Dupierre, ordering the statue 

was written on the same paper as the above, pointing 
to a common origin for the three. 

Pleased with the progress he had made, Burnley left his seat 
under the tree and strolled back to his hotel in the rue Castiglione 
to write his daily report to Scotland Yard. 


CHAPTER XVII 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 

At nine that evening, Inspector Burnley knocked at the door of 
the Chief’s room in the Surete. Lefarge was already there, and, 
as Burnley sat down, M. Chauvet said:— 

‘Tefarge is just going to tell his adventures. Now, Lefarge, if 
you please.” 

“As arranged on Saturday,” began the detective, “I went to 
Dijon yesterday and called on Mile. Daudet in the rue Popeau. 
She seems a quiet, reliable girl, and, I think, truthful. She cor¬ 
roborated M. Boirac’s and the butler’s statements on every point, 
but added three details they omitted. The first was that Mme. 
Boirac took a wide-brimmed hat, but no hatpins. This seemed 
to strike the girl as very strange, and I asked why. She said 
because the hat was useless without the pins, as it would not stay 
on. I suggested the lady must have been so hurried she forgot 
them, but the girl did not think that possible. She said it would 
have taken no appreciable time to get the pins, as they were stuck 
in the cushion at Madame’s hand, and that a lady would put in 
hatpins quite automatically and as a matter of habit. In fact, 
had they been forgotten, the loose feel of the hat, even in the 
slight air caused by descending the stairs, would have at once 
called attention to the omission. She could offer no explanation 
of the circumstance. The second detail was that Madame took 
no luggage—not even a handbag with immediate necessaries for 
the night. The third seems more important still. On the morn¬ 
ing of the dinner-party Madame sent Suzanne to the Hotel Con¬ 
tinental with a note for Felix. Felix came out and instructed her 
to tell Madame he had her note and would come.” 

“A curious point, that about the pins,” said the Chief, and, 
after a few moments’ silence, he turned to Burnley and asked for 
his report. When this had been delivered and discussed he went 
on:— 


159 


160 


THE CASK 


also have some news. There has been a telephone call from 
the manager of the Hotel Continental. He says it can be estab¬ 
lished beyond doubt that Felix returned to the hotel at 1.30 on 
Sunday morning. He was seen by the hall porter, the lift boy, 
and the chamber-maid, all of whom are agreed on the time. All 
three also agree that he was in a quite normal condition, except 
that he was in a specially good humour and seemed pleased about 
something. The manager points out, however, that he was habit¬ 
ually good-humoured, so that there may be nothing remarkable 
about this.’^ 

M. Chauvet took some cigars from a drawer and, having 
selected one, passed the box to the others. 

‘‘Help yourselves, gentlemen. It seems to me that at this stage 
we should stop and see just where we stand, what we have learnt, 
if we have any tenable theory, and what still remains to be done. 
I am sure each of us has already done this, but three minds are 
better together than separate. What do you say, Mr. Burnley?’’ 

“An excellent idea, monsieur,” returned the Inspector, con¬ 
gratulating himself on his cogitations earlier in the day. 

“Perhaps you would tell us how you approached the problem, 
and we shall add our ideas as you go on?” 

“I started, monsieur, with the assumption that the murder was 
the central factor of the whole affair, and the other incidents 
merely parts of a design to get rid of the body and divert 
suspicion.” 

“I fancy we are all agreed there, eh, Lefarge?” 

The Frenchman bowed, and Burnley continued:— 

“I thought then of the method of the murder. Strangulation is 
such a brutal way of killing that it seemed the work either of a 
maniac, or a man virtually mad from passion. Even then it 
would hardly have been used if other means had been available. 
From that I argued the crime must have been unpremeditated. 
If it had been planned, a weapon would have been provided.” 

“A good point, Mr. Burnley. I also had come to the same con¬ 
clusion. Please continue.” 

“If this was so, it followed that some person, when alone with 
Mme. Boirac, had suddenly been overcome with absolute, blind 
passion. What, I asked myself, could have aroused this? 

“A love affair, causing hate or jealousy, naturally suggested 

'\ 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 161 

itself, but I could not fit it in. Who could have felt these pas¬ 
sions? 

‘‘Considering Felix first, I did not see how he could experience 
either hate or jealousy against a woman who had eloped with 
him. It is true, a lover’s quarrel might have taken place, result¬ 
ing in something approaching temporary hatred, but it was incon¬ 
ceivable this would be bitter enough to lead to such a climax. 
Jealousy, I did not believe could be aroused at all. It seemed to 
me that Felix would be the last man in the world to commit the 
crime. 

“Then it occurred to me that hate and jealousy would be just 
what one might expect to find in Boirac’s case. If he were guilty, 
the motive would be obvious. And then, when M. Lefarge dis¬ 
covered yesterday that a cask similar to that in which the body 
was found had been unpacked in Boirac’s study, I felt sure this 
was the solution. However, since hearing the explanation of the 
presence of that cask, I admit I am again in doubt.” 

“I agree with all you say, Mr. Burnley, except that we should 
remember that the passions of hate and jealousy could only arise 
in Boirac’s mind in a certain circumstance, namely, that he was 
aware his wife had eloped, or was about to elope, with Felix. If 
he were in ignorance of that, it is obvious he could have had no 
such feelings.” 

“That is so, sir. Yes, it would only be if he knew.” 

“And then, again, it would only be if he really loved his wife. 
If not, he might be vastly annoyed and upset, but not enough 
to throttle her in the blind passion we have spoken of. If they 
were not on good terms, or if there was some other woman in 
Boirac’s life, he might even view her action with delight, as a 
welcome relief, particularly as there were no children to com¬ 
plicate the question of a divorce.” The Chief looked inquiringly 
at his companions. 

“I agree with that too, sir,” said Burnley, answering the look. 

“And I, monsieur,” added Lefarge. 

“So then, we have reached this point. If Boirac was in love 
with his wife, and if he knew she had eloped or was about to do 
so, he would have had a motive for the crime. Otherwise, we can 
suggest no motive at all, either for him, or Felix, or anybody else.” 

“Your last words, monsieur, open up possibilities,” observed 


162 


THE CASK 


Lefarge. ^‘Might it not have been some other person altogether? 
I do not see that we are limited to Felix or Boirac. What about 
Le Gautier, for instance, or some one we have not yet heard of?” 

‘'Quite so, Lefarge. That is undoubtedly a possibility. There 
are others, Frangois, the butler, for example, into whose actions 
we must inquire. The possibility of Madame’s having had some 
former lover must not be forgotten either. But I think we should 
make up our minds about these two men before we go farther 
afield.” 

"There is another point,” resumed Burnley. "The medical 
evidence shows that only a short time can have elapsed between 
the time Madame left her house and the murder. We assume, on 
the hotel manager’s testimony, Felix went to London the morning 
after the dinner-party. If so, did Madame accompany him? If 
the former, it points to Felix, and if the latter, to Boirac.” 

"I think we can deduce tha^ said Lefarge. 

"And how?” 

"In this way, monsieur. Leave aside for a moment the ques¬ 
tion of the identity of the murderer, and consider how he got the 
body into the cask. This cask we have traced fairly well. It was 
packed in the showrooms in the Boulevard des Capucines, and in 
it was placed a statue. Then it travelled to Waterloo, and the 
evidence that it was not tampered with en route is overwhelming. 
Therefore the body was not in it when it arrived at Waterloo. 
Then, for twenty-two hours, it disappeared. It reappeared at 
Charing Cross, for it is too much to suppose there are really two 
casks in question, and travelled back to Paris, and again it is quite 
impossible that it could have been interfered with on the journey. 
At Paris it left the Gare du Nord at 5.20, and disappeared again, 
but it turned up at the State Railway goods station at 6.10 p. m. 
the same evening, and returned to London by long sea. On arrival 
in London it contained the body. It is certain the change was 
not made during any of the three journeys, therefore it must have 
been done during these disappearances in London or Paris* 

"Of these disappearances, take that in Paris first. It lasted 
fifty minutes, and, during that time, the cask was conveyed be¬ 
tween the Gare du Nord and the rue Cardinet goods station on a 
horse cart. How long, monsieur, should that journey have 
taken?” 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 


163 


“About fifty minutes, I should think,” returned the Chief. 

“I thought so too. That is to say, the whole time of the dis¬ 
appearance is accounted for. We may reckon, also, it would take 
some considerable time to open, unpack, repack, and close the 
cask, and it seems to me it would have been utterly impossible for 
it to have both been opened and to have made that journey in the 
time. It made the journey, therefore it wasn’t opened. There¬ 
fore the body must have been put into it in London.” 

“Excellent, Lefarge. I believe you are right.” 

“There is a further point, monsieur. If my suggestion is cor¬ 
rect, it definitely proves Madame Boirac went to London while 
alive, because her dead body obviously could not have been 
brought there. If we consider this in relation to the point about 
• the medical evidence raised by Mr. Burnley, I think we shall be 
forced to conclude she crossed with F^x on Sunday.” 

“It certainly sounds probable.” 

“If she crossed with Felix, it seems almost certain that he is the 
guilty man. But there are a good many others things that point 
to Felix. Suppose for a moment he is guilty, and picture him 
faced with the question of how to dispose of the body. He wants 
a receptacle to remove it in. It suddenly occurs to him that only 
a few hours before he has seen the very thing. A cask for statu¬ 
ary. And, fortunately for him, he has not only seen it, but he 
has learned where to get a similar cask. What does he do? He 
proceeds to get that similar cask. He writes to the firm who use 
them, and he orders just such a piece of statuary as will ensure 
his getting the kind of cask he wants.” 

“What about the false address?” 

“Of that, monsieur, I cannot suggest the explanation, but I 
presume it was with some idea of covering his tracks.” 

“Please continue.” 

“I suggest then, that he got the cask on arrival in London, 
brought it to St. Malo, unpacked and probably destroyed the 
statue, packed the body, took the cask to Charing Cross and sent 
it to Paris, travelling over in the same train himself. In Paris he 
got a cart, and took it from the Gare du Nord to the rue Cardinet 
goods station, travelled back to London, and met the cask at St. 
Katherine’s Docks on the following Monday.” 

“But what was the object of all these journeys? If his pur- 


164 


THE CASK 


pose was to get rid of the body, why would he first get rid of it, 
and then arrange an elaborate scheme to bring it back again?” 

‘T saw that difficulty, monsieur,” admitted Lefarge, “and I 
cannot explain it, though I would suggest it was for the same 
purpose as the false address—in some way to divert suspicion. 
But more than that, monsieur. We have evidence that the black- 
bearded man who met the cask on its various journeys was like 
Felix. But we have so far found no other black-bearded man in 
the entire case. It seems to me, therefore, it must have been 
Felix.” 

“If M. Lefarge’s theory is correct,” interposed Burnley, “the 
letter about the bet must have been written by Felix. In this 
case, could this letter and the journeys of the cask not have been 
devised v/ith the object of throwing suspicion on Le Gautier?” 

“Or of Boirac?” suggested the Chief. 

“Boirac!” cried Lefarge, with a rapid gesture of satisfaction. 
“That was it, of course! I see it now. The whole of the business 
of the letter and the cask was a plant designed by Felix to throw 
suspicion on Boirac. What do you think, monsieur?” 

“It certainly presents a working theory.” 

“But why,” queried the Englishman, “should Le Gautier’s 
name be brought in? Why did he not use Boirac’s?” 

“It would have been too obvious,” returned Lefarge, delighted 
with the rapid strides his theory was making. “It would have 
been crude. Felix would argue that if Boirac had written that 
letter, he would never have signed it himself. It was a subtle 
idea introducing Le Gautier’s name. 

“If Felix did it,” Burnley continued, “it would certainly clear 
up the difficulty of the authorship of the letter. He is the only 
man we have discovered so far that would have had the necessary 
knowledge to write it. He was present at the Cafe Toisson d’Or, 
and had joined with Le Gautier in the lottery, and therefore knew 
that part of it. The discussion about criminals evading the 
police and the bet between Le Gautier and Dumarchez, neither 
of which we believe took place, he could have invented to account 
for the receipt of the cask, and finally, he would naturally know 
the details about the last journey of the cask, since he himself 
arranged them.” 

“Quite so,” cried Lefarge eagerly, “it all works in. I believe 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 165 

we are beginning to see light. And we must not forget Suzanne’s 
evidence about the note. It is clear Madame and Felix had an 
understanding for that night. At least, we know of messages 
passing between them and the reply of Felix points to an assig¬ 
nation.” 

“An important point, certainly. And yet,” the Chief objected, 
“there are difficulties. That singular point about the hatpins, 
for example. What do you make of that, Lefarge?” 

“Agitation, monsieur. I would suggest that this lady was 
so excited at the action she was about to take that she hardly 
knew what she was doing.” 

The Chief shook his head. 

“I don’t know that that is very satisfactory,” he said. “Might 
it not, as also the fact that she took no luggage, mean that she 
never left the house at all? That she was murdered that same 
evening of the dinner-party, and the hat and coat removed to 
make a false scent? I suppose you have considered that?” 

Burnley answered at once. 

“I thought of that first of all, monsieur, but I dismissed it as 
impossible for the following reasons. First, if she was murdered 
on Saturday night, what was done with the body? It could not 
have been put into the cask in the study, as I had thought at 
first, for that was full. The statue was not unpacked till two 
nights later, on Monday. We know, indeed, it was not put into 
the cask, for that was returned direct to Messrs. Dupierre’s and 
found to be empty. Secondly, it could not have been hidden 
anywhere else in the house, for Frangois and Suzanne made a 
thorough search on the Sunday, and the corpse would have been 
too big a thing for them to have overlooked. Further, if she 
was murdered in the house, either Felix, Boirac, or some third 
person or persons must have done it. Felix could hardly be the 
man, as I do not see how he could have removed the body without 
a confederate, and we have not found such. Boirac would per¬ 
haps have had more chances of disposing of the body, though 
I do not see how, but he had a complete alibi. Lastly, I felt 
strongly that Frangois, the butler, was to be believed. I could 
not imagine him party to the murder, and I did not see how it 
could have been done at the time you suggest without his knowl¬ 
edge.” 


166 


THE CASK 


“That certainly seems probable. In fact, when you add it 
to M. Lefarge’s point that the body must have been put into the 
cask in London, it seems to me almost conclusive.” 

“I also feel sure it could not have been done then,” observed 
Lefarge, “though I don’t agree with Mr. Burnley that Boirac’s 
alibi is good.” 

“Well now, I was rather inclined to accept the alibi,” said M. 
Chauvet. “What part of it do you consider doubtful, Lefarge?” 

“All of it from the time Boirac left the works. We don’t know 
whether that American exists at all. As far as I can see, the 
whole thing may be an invention.” 

“That is quite true,” admitted the Chief, “but it didn’t seem 
to me so very important. The crucial point, to my mind, is the 
hour at which Boirac says he returned home—a few minutes 
past one. That is confirmed by Francois and by Suzanne, and 
I think we may accept their statement. But we have a further 
rather convincing incident. You may recollect Boirac stated 
that when he was halfway home from the Gare Quai d’Orsay it 
began to rain? You very properly tried to check even so small 
a point by asking Frangois if his master’s coat was wet. He 
replied that it was. Now, I made inquiries, and I find that night 
was perfectly fine till almost one o’clock, when a thick, wetting 
rain began to fall. We know, therefore, quite definitely that 
Boirac was out until the time he said. Therefore he could not 
have done the deed before 1.15. Also, we know that he could 
not have done it after that hour, because the lady was gone, 
and also the butler and maid were about. Therefore, if Boirac 
did it at all, it must have been after that night.” 

“That seems unquestionable, monsieur,” said Lefarge, “and 
when you add to that the fact that we have, so far at any rate, 
been quite unable to connect Boirac with the letter or the cask, 
and that we are practically certain Madame travelled to London, 
I think he may almost be eliminated from the inquiry. What 
do you say, Burnley?” 

“Well, I think it’s a little so soon to eliminate any one from 
inquiry. I confess that point of motive struck me as being very 
strong against Boirac.” 

“That also, by the way, seems to show the deed was not done 
by Boirac that night,” the Chief went on. “Your point is that 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 


167 


he killed his wife because she had run away with Felix. But 
if he came home and found her there, she obviously hadrCt run 
away. Hence the motive, for that night at least, falls to the 
ground.’^ 

The three men laughed, and M. Chauvet resumed:— 

‘‘Now, to sum up our present position. We know that Mme. 
Boirac was murdered between 11.30 p.m. on the Saturday of 
the dinner-party, and the following Monday evening, when the 
letter purporting to be from Felix and ordering the statue, was 
written. Obviously only Felix, Boirac, or some third person could 
be guilty. There is not, so far, a scintilla of evidence of any 
third person being involved, therefore it almost certainly was one 
of the other two. Taking Boirac first, we find that under certain 
circumstances he would have had a motive for the crime, but 
we have not yet been able to obtain any evidence that these 
circumstances existed. Apart from this, we can find nothing 
whatever against him. On the other hand, he has established a 
strong alibi for the only time during which, so far as we can now 
see, he could have committed the crime. 

“Against Felix there are several suspicious circumstances. 
Firstly, it is proved he received a note from Madame, presum¬ 
ably arranging a meeting. Then we know he took advantage of 
the husband’s absence on the night of the dinner to have a 
private interview with her. That went on from 11.00 till at least 
11.30, and there is reason to believe, though not proof, till 1.00. 
Then we believe Madame went to London, either actually with 
Felix, or at the same time. We conclude that for three reasons. 
First, she wrote to her husband that she had done so. The value 
of this evidence will, of course, depend on the opinion of our 
handwriting experts, whose report on the genuineness of this 
letter we have not yet received. Second, she, could not have 
remained in the house, either alive or dead, as it was thoroughly 
searched by the servants, who found no trace of her. Neither 
could her body have been put in the cask in the study, for that 
contained the statue, and was not unpacked till the following 
Monday evening. Third, it is certain from the journeyings of 
the cask that the body was put into it in London, for the simple 
reason that it could not have been done anywhere else. There¬ 
fore she must have travelled to that city. 


168 


THE CASK 


‘Turther, the letter presumed to be written to Felix by Le 
Gautier could be reasonably accounted for if Felix himself wrote 
it as a blind to cover his actions with the cask, should such be 
discovered. It is clear that it was written with some such 
purpose, as half of it—all about the bet and the test—^is entirely 
untrue, and evidently invented to account for the arrival of the 
cask. Now, we may take it, Le Gautier did not write that letter. 
On the other hand, Felix is the only man we have yet found 
who had sufficient information to do so. 

Again, we know that a black-bearded man like Felix arranged 
the journeys of the cask. So far, Felix himself is the only black- 
bearded man we have found. On the other hand we have two 
strong points in Felix’s favour. First, we have not been able 
to prove motive, and second, his surprise when the body was 
found in the cask appears to have been genuine. We have un¬ 
doubtedly a good deal of evidence against Felix, but we must 
note that not only is this evidence circumstantial, but there is 
also evidence in his favour. 

^‘The truth is, in my opinion, that we have not yet sufficient 
information to come to a conclusion, and I fear it will take 
a lot of work to get it. Firstly, we must definitely prove the 
authorship of that letter about the lottery and the bet. And 
here, it seems to me, the tracing of that typewriter is essential. 
This should not be so difficult, as I think we may take it that 
the author used the typewriter himself. Therefore, only ma¬ 
chines to which the possible writers could have had access need 
be examined. I will send a man to-morrow to get samples from 
all the machines Boirac could have used, and if that produces 
nothing, he can do the same in connection with Le Gautier, 
Dumarchez, and the other gentlemen whose names we have. I 
presume, Mr. Burnley, your people will take similar action with 
regard to Felix?” 

“I expect they have done so already, but I will write to-night 
and make sure.” 

'T consider that a vital point, and the next is almost equally 
important. We must trace Felix’s movements from the Saturday 
night till the Thursday evening when the cask containing the 
body was despatched from Paris. Further, we must ascertain by 
direct evidence, if Madame travelled with him to London. 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 


169 


“We must similarly trace the movements of Boirac for the 
same period. If none of these inquiries help us, other points 
would be the confronting of Felix and Boirac with the various 
luggage clerks that did business with the black-bearded man with 
the cask, in the hope that some of them might possibly identify 
him. The tracing of the carters who brought the cask to and 
from the various stations might or might not lead us to the men 
from whom they got their instructions. An exhaustive inquiry 
into the past life of Mme. Boirac and all the suspected men is 
also likely to be necessary. There are several other directions in 
which we can prosecute inquiries, but I fancy the above should 
give us all we want.’^ 

The discussion was carried on for some time longer, various 
points of detail being more fully gone into. Finally, it was ar¬ 
ranged that on the following morning Burnley and Lefarge should 
begin the tracing of Felix’s movements from the night of the 
dinner-party until he left French soil, after which Burnley would 
continue the quest alone, while Lefarge turned his attention to 
ascertaining Boirac’s movements during the crucial period. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


LEFARGE HUNTS ALONE 

At nine o’clock next morning the two colleagues met at the 
hotel in the rue Castiglione. They had discussed their plan of 
campaign before separating the previous evening, and did not 
waste time getting to work. Calling a taxi, they drove once 
more to the Hotel Continental and asked for their old friend 
the manager. In a few minutes they were ushered into the 
presence of that urbane and smiling, but somewhat bored official. 

“We are exceedingly sorry to trouble you again, monsieur,” 
apologised Lefarge, “but the fact is we find we require some 
more information about your recent visitor, M. Felix. If you 
can help us to obtain it, you will greatly add to our already 
large debt of gratitude.” 

The manager bowed. 

“I shall be delighted to tell you anything I can. What is 
the point in question?” 

“We want to trace M. Felix’s movements after he left here. 
You have already told us he went to catch the 8.20 English 
boat train at the Gare du Nord. We wondered if he really 
did travel by it. Can you help us to find out?” 

“Our bus meets all the incoming boat trains, but attends only 
those outward bound by which visitors are travelling. If you 
v/ill pardon me a moment, I will ascertain if it ran that day. 
It was Sunday, I think?” 

“Sunday, the 28th March.” 

The manager was absent for a few moments, returning with 
a tall young man in the uniform of a porter. 

“I find the bus did run on the day in question, and Karl, here, 
went with it. He may be able to answer your questions.” 

“Thank you, monsieur.” Lefarge turned to the porter. “You 
went to the Gare du Nord on Sunday, the 28th March, with 
some passengers for the 8.20 English boat train?” 

170 


LEFARGE HUNTS ALONE 


171 


^‘Yes, monsieur.’^ 

“How many passengers had you?” 

The porter considered. 

“Three, monsieur,” he replied at length. 

“Did you know who they were?” 

“Two of them I knew, monsieur. One was M. Leblanc, a gentle¬ 
man who had stayed in the hotel for over a month. The second 
was M. Felix, who has been a constant visitor for years. The 
third was an English gentleman, but I do not know his name.” 

“Did these gentlemen converse together while in the bus?” 

“I saw M. Felix speaking to the Englishman as they were 
leaving the bus, otherwise I cannot say.” 

“Did they go by the 8.20?” 

“Yes, monsieur. I put their luggage into the carriages, and 
I saw all three in the train as it was starting.” 

“Was M. Felix alone?” 

“He was, monsieur.” 

“Did he meet or speak with a lady at the station?” 

“I do not think so, monsieur. Certainly I did not see a lady.” 

“Did he seem anxious or perturbed?” 

“Not at all, monsieur. He was just as usual.” 

“Thank you, I am exceedingly obliged.” 

Some silver changed hands, and Karl withdrew. 

“That is very satisfactory information, M. le Directeur. The 
only other point I want is the names and addresses of the two 
other occupants of the bus.” 

These were ascertained with some slight difficulty—M. Guil¬ 
laume Leblanc, rue Verte, Marseilles, and Mr. Henry Gordon, 
327 Angus Lane, Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow—and the detectives 
bowed themselves out with compliments and thanks. 

“That’s a piece of luck,” remarked Lefarge, as they drove 
towards the Gare du Nord. “Those men may have seen Felix 
at other stages of the journey, and we may be able to trace 
him the whole way.” 

They spent the morning in the great station, interviewing 
ticket examiners and other officials, but without success. No 
one had seen either of the travellers. 

“The boat is more likely,” observed Burnley. “If he is a 
constant traveller, some of the stewards will certainly know him.” 


172 


THE CASK 


Taking the 4.0 p. m. train, they reached Bolougne as dusk was 
falling, and began their inquiries at the pier. Finding the Pas 
de Calais, which had made the run in which they were interested, 
would not leave till noon next day, they turned their steps to 
the local police station. There they saw the men who had been 
on duty when the boat left on the Sunday in question, but here 
again without getting any information. Then they went on board 
the steamer and sought the chief steward. 

“I knov/ that gentleman, yes,” he said when, after introducing 
themselves, Lefarge showediim Felix's photograph. ^‘He crosses 
frequently, once or twice a month, I should say. He is a M. 
Felix, but I cannot say where he lives, nor do I know anything 
else about him.” 

“What we want to find out, monsieur, is when he last crossed. 
If you can tell us that, we shall be extremely obliged.” 

The official considered. 

“I am afraid I could hardly be sure of that. He crossed both 
ways fairly lately. I should say about ten days or a fortnight 
ago, but I'm not sure of the exact date.” 

“We think he crossed on Sunday, the 28th March. Can you 
think of anything that would confirm whether it was this date?” 

“No, I cannot. You see there would be nothing to record it. 
We could not now trace the ticket he held, and there is no way 
in which the identity of our passengers is ascertained and noted. 
Speaking from memory, I should say that the date you mention 
is about correct, but I could not be sure.” 

“Is there any one on board who might be able to help us?” 

“I'm really very sorry, monsieur, but I don't think there is. 
The captain, or one of the officers, might know him; I could 
not say.” 

“Well, just one other question, monsieur. Was he travelling 
alone?” 

“I think so. No, wait a minute, was he? I believe, now that 
you mention it, there was a lady with him. You will understand 
I was not noticing particularly, as my mind was occupied with 
my work, but it's like a dream to me, I saw him talking to a 
lady on the promenade deck.” 

“You could not describe her?” 


LEFARGE HUNTS ALONE 173 

“I could not, monsieur. I cannot be even positive she was 
there at all.” 

Seeing there was nothing further to be learnt, they thanked the 
chief steward courteously. Then, remaining on board, they in¬ 
terviewed every one they could find, whom they thought might 
be able to give them information. Of all they spoke to, only 
one, a waiter, knew Felix, and he had not seen him on the 
occasion in question. 

^‘That’s no good, I^m afraid,” said Burnley, as they walked 
to an hotel. believe that steward did see a woman, but he 
would be useless as a witness.” 

“Quite. I don’t fancy you’ll get much at Folkestone either.” 

“Most unlikely, I should say, but I can but try. I think I’ll 
probably run up to Glasgow and see that man that travelled 
in the bus with him. He might know something. 

“If not. I’ll see the other—the one who lives in Marseilles.” 

A few minutes before twelve next day saw the detectives 
strolling along the wharf beside the English boat. 

“Well,” said Lefarge, “our ways part here. There is no use 
in my going to Folkestone, and I’ll take the 2.12 back to Paris. 
We have had a pleasant inquiry, and I’m only sorry we have 
not had a more definite result.” 

“We’re not done with it yet,” returned the Englishman. “I 
expect we’ll get it pretty square before we stop. But I’m really 
sorry to say “Good-bye,” and I hope we may be working to¬ 
gether again before long.” 

They parted with mutual assurances of goodwill, Burnley ex¬ 
pressing his appreciation of the kindly treatment he had received 
in Paris, and Lefarge inviting him back to spend his next holi¬ 
days in the gay capital. 

We may accompany Lefarge on his return journey to Paris, 
and follow him as he endeavours to trace the movements of M. 
Boirac from the Saturday night of the dinner-party to the follow¬ 
ing Thursday evening, when the cask containing the body was 
despatched to London from the State Railway goods station in 
the rue Cardinet. 

He reached the Gare du Nord at 5.45 p.m., and immediately 
drove to the Surete. M. Chauvet was in his office, and Lefarge 
reported his movements since they parted. 


174 


THE CASK 


‘T had a telephone call from Scotland Yard yesterday,” said 
the Chief. ^Tt seems Boirac turned up at eleven as arranged. 
He definitely identified the body as that of his wife, so that point 
is settled.” 

‘‘Has he returned yet, do you know, monsieur?” 

‘T have not heard. Why do you ask?” 

‘T thought if he was still away I might take the opportunity 
of pumping Frangois about his movements since the murder.” 

“A good idea. We can find out at once.” 

M. Chauvet turned over the pages of his telephone directory 
and, having found what he wanted, gave a call. 

“Hallo? Is that M. Boirac^s?—Is M. Boirac at home?—^About 
seven o’clock? Ah, thank you. I’ll ring up again later.—^No, 
don’t mind. It’s of no consequence.” 

He replaced the receiver. 

“He’s crossing by the 11.0 from Charing Cross, and will be 
home about seven. If you were to call about half-past six, 
which is the hour at which he usually returns, your visit would 
not be suspicious, and you could have a chat with Frangois.” 

“I shall do that, monsieur,” and with a bow the detective 
withdrew. 

The clocks had just finished chiming the half-hour after six 
when Lefarge presented himself at the house in the Avenue de 
I’Alma. Frangois opened the door. 

“Good-evening, M. Frangois.” Is M. Boirac at home?” 

“Not yet, monsieur. We expect him in about half an hour. 
Will you come in and wait?” 

Lefarge seemed to consider, and then,— 

“Thanks. I think I will.” 

The butler preceded him to the small sitting-room into which 
he had shown the two detectives on their first call. H 

“I heard at the Surete that M. Boirac had gone to London 
to identify the body. You don’t know, I suppose, if he was able 
to do so?” 

“No, monsieur. I knew he had gone to London, but I did J 
not know for what purpose.” | 

The detective settled himself in a comfortable chair and took j 
out a cigarette case. 



LEFARGE HUNTS ALONE 175 

“Try one of these. They’re special Brazilian cigarettes. I 
suppose we may smoke here?” 

“Certainly, monsieur. I thank you.” 

“It’s a long way over from London. I don’t envy Monsieur 
his journey. You’ve been, I suppose, monsieur?” 

“Twice, monsieur.” 

“Once is all right to see the place, but after that—^no, thank 
you. But I suppose M. Boirac is used to it? They say you 
can get used to anything.” 

“I should think he must be. He travels a lot. London, Brus¬ 
sels, Berlin, Vienna—he had been at them all to my knowledge 
in the last two years.” 

“I’m glad it’s he and not I. But I should think this unhappy 
event would take away his love for travelling. I should imagine 
he would want to stay quiet in his own home and see no one. 
What do you think, M. Frangois?” 

“Well, he hasn’t anyway, or else he can’t help himself. This 
is the second journey he’s made since then.” 

“You surprise me. Or rather, no, you don’t. I suppose we 
shouldn’t be talking about what doesn’t concern us, but I would 
be willing to lay a napoleon I could tell you where the first 
journey was to and what it was for. It was to see the Wilson 
Test. Am I not right?” 

“The Wilson Test, monsieur? What is that?” 

“Have you never heard of the Wilson Test? Wilson is the 
head of a great firm of English pump manufacturers, and each 
year a reward of over 10,000 francs is offered by them for any 
pump that can throw more water than theirs. A test is held 
every year, and the last one took place on Wednesday. M. Boirac 
would naturally be interested, being head of a pump manufactory 
himself. He would go to the Test.” 

“I’m afraid you would have lost your money, then, monsieur. 
He was away on Wednesday right enough, but I happen to know 
he went to Belgium.” 

“Well,” said Lefarge, with a laugh, “I’m glad we didn’t bet, 
an 3 rway. But,” he added, in a changed tone, “maybe I’m right 
after all. Maybe he went from Belgium to London, or vice versa. 
Was h^ long away?” 


176 


THE CASK 


“He could not have done that, monsieur. He was only away 
two days, Wednesday and Thursday.’’ 

“It ought to be a lesson to me. I’m always too ready to bet 
on^an unsupported opinion,” and Lefarge led the conversation 
on to bets he had won and lost, till Frangois excused himself to 
prepare for his master’s arrival. 

Shortly after seven M. Boirac came in. He saw Lefarge at 
once. 

“I don’t wish to trouble you after your journey, monsieur,” 
said the latter, “but some further points have arisen in this un- 
happy business, and I would be obliged if you could kindly 
give me an appointment at whatever time would suit you.” 

“No time like the present. If you will excuse me for an hour 
till I change and get some dinner, I shall be at your service. 
You have dined, I suppose?” 

“Yes, thank you. If, then, I may wait here for you, I would 
be glad to do so.” 

“Then come into the study. You’ll perhaps find something 
to read in these book-cases.” 

“I thank you, monsieur.” 

The hands of the clock on the study chimney-piece were point¬ 
ing to half-past eight when M. Boirac re-entered. Sinking into 
an easy chair, he said:— 

_J^Now, monsieur, I am at your service.” 

“The matter is a somewhat difficult one for me to approach, 
monsieur,” began Lefarge, “in case it might seem to you that 
we had suspicions which we do not really entertain. But, as a 
man of the world, you will recognise that the position of the 
husband in unhappy affairs such as this must inevitably be made 
clear. It is a matter of necessary routine. My chief, M. Chauvet, 
has therefore placed on me the purely formal, but extremely 
unpleasant duty of asking you some questions about your own 
movements since the unhappy event.” 

“That’s rather roundabout. Do you mean that you suspect 
me of murdering my wife?” 

“Certainly not, monsieur. It is simply that the movements 
of every one in a case like this must be gone into. It is our 
ordinary routine, and we cannot consult our inclination in carry¬ 
ing it out.” 


LEFARGE HUNTS ALONE 


177 


‘^Oh, well, go ahead. You must, of course, do your duty.” 

‘‘The information my Chief requires is a statement from you 
of how you passed your time from the night of the dinner-party 
until the evening of the following Thursday.” 

M. Boirac looked distressed. He paused before replying, and 
then said in an altered tone:— 

“I don’t like to think of that time. I passed through a rather 
terrible experience. I think I was temporarily insane.” 

“I still more regret that I must persevere in my question.” 

“Oh, I will tell you. The seizure, or whatever it was, is over 
and I am myself again. What happened to me was this. 

“From the Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, when 
I learnt that my wife had left me, I was in a kind of dream. 
My brain felt numb, and I had the curious feeling of existing 
in some way outside of and apart from myself. I want as usual 
to my office on Monday, returning home at my ordinary time in 
the evening. After dinner, in the hope of rousing myself, I 
unpacked the cask, but even that failed to excite my interest or 
lighten my depression. On the following morning, Tuesday, I 
again went to the office at my customary time, but after an 
hour of effort I found I could no longer concentrate my mind 
on my work. I felt that at all costs I must be alone so as to 
relax the strain of pretending nothing had happened. Still like 
a man in a dream, I left the office and, going down into the street, 
entered a Metro station. On the wall my eye caught sight of the 
notice, ‘Direction Vincennes,’ and it occurred to me that the 
Bois de Vincennes would be the very place for me to go. There 
I could walk without fear of meeting any of my acquaintances, 
I accordingly took the train there, and spent the morning pacing 
the more sequestered paths. The physical exercise helped me, 
but as I grew tired my mood changed. A great longing for 
human sympathy took possession of me, and I felt I must con¬ 
fide in some one, or go mad. I thought of my brother Armande, 
and felt sure I would get the sympathy I wanted from him. He 
lived not far from Malines, in Belgium, and I determined to go 
and see him at once. I lunched at a little cafe at Charenton, 
and from there telephoned to the office and to my house that I 
was going to Belgium for a couple of days. I instructed Frangois 
to pack a handbag of necessaries and leave it immediately at 


178 


THE CASK 


the cloak room at the Gare du Nord, where I should call for it. 
While sitting at lunch it occurred to me that if I went by the 
4.05 p.m. train—the first I could get—I would not arrive at my 
destination till the middle of the night, so I decided I would 
wait till the evening train and see my brother the following day. 
Accordingly, I went for a long walk up the Seine, returning by 
a local train to the Gare du Lyon. I dined at a cafe in the 
Place de la Bastille, and finally went to the Gare du Nord, got 
my bag, and left by the 11.20 for Brussels. I slept well in the 
train and breakfasted in one of the cafes off the Place du Nord. 
About eleven I left for Malines, walking the four miles to my 
brother’s house for the sake of the exercise. But when I reached 
it I found it empty, and then I recollected, what had entirely 
slipped my memory, that my brother had spoken of a business 
trip to Stockholm, on which he was going to take his wife. I 
cursed my forgetfulness, but my mind was in such a state I hardly 
realised my loss of time and money. Walking slowly back to 
Malines, I considered returning to Paris that evening. Then I 
thought I had had enough travelling for one day. It was 
pleasant in the afternoon sun, and I let the time slip away, 
returning to Brussels about six. I dined at a cafe in the Boule¬ 
vard Anspach, and then, thinking I would try and distract my 
thoughts, decided I would turn in for a couple of hours to a 
theatre. I telephoned to the Hotel Maximilian, where I usually 
stayed, to reserve a room, and then I went to Berlioz’s Les 
Troyens at the Theatre de la Monnaie, getting to my hotel about 
eleven. That night I slept well and next day my brain seemed 
saner and better. I left Brussels by the 12.50 from the Gare 
du Midi, arriving at Paris about five. Looking back on that 
abortive journey is like remembering a nightmare, but I think 
the solitude and the exercise really helped me.” 

When M. Boirac ceased speaking, there was silence for a few 
moments, while Lefarge, in just the same painstaking way that 
Burnley would have adopted, went over in his mind what he had 
heard. He did not wish to question M. Boirac too closely lest, 
in the unlikely event of that gentleman proving guilty, he should 
put him on his guard; but he was anxious to miss no detail of 
the statement, so that he might as far as possible check it by 
independent testimony. On the whole, he thought the storj^ 


LEFARGE HUNTS ALONE 


179 


reasonable, and, so far, he could see no internal reason for doubt¬ 
ing it. He would, therefore, get a few details made clearer and 
take his leave. 

“Thank you, M. Boirac. Might I ask a few supplementary 
questions? At what time did you leave your office on Tuesday?’’ 

“About nine-thirty.” 

“What cafe did you lunch at in Charenton?” 

“I don’t remember. It was in a street about half-way between 
the station and the steamboat wharf, a rather poor place with 
an overhanging, half-timbered front.” 

“And what time was that?” 

“About one-thirty, I think. I am not sure.” 

“And from where did you telephone to your house and office?” 

“From the same cafe.” 

“About what time?” 

“About an hour later, say half-past two.” 

“Now, the cafe in the Place de la Bastille. Which one was it?” 

“I am not very certain. I think it was at the corner of the 
rue St. Antoine. At all events it faced up the rue de Lyon.” 

“And you were there about what time?” 

“Eight-thirty, I should say.” 

“Did you get your bag at the Gare du Nord?” 

“Yes, it was waiting for me at the left luggage office.” 

“Did you have a sleeping berth on the train?” 

“No, I travelled in an ordinary first-class compartment.” 

“Was there any one else in it?” 

“Three other men. I did not know any of them.” 

“Now, all that day, Tuesday, did you meet any one who knew 
you, or who could confirm your statement?” 

“Not that I can remember, unless the waiters at the cafes 
could do so.” 

“On the next day, Wednesday, from where did you telephone 
to the Hotel Maximilian?” 

“From the cafe where I dined. It was in the Boulevard 
Anspach, just before it opens into the Place Brouckere. I don’t 
recall the name.” 

“What time was the message sent?” 

“Just before dinner, about seven, I should say.” 

The detective stood up and bowed. 


180 


THE CASK 


‘‘Well, M. Boirac, accept my thanks for your courtesy. That 
is all I want to know. Good-night, monsieur.’’ 

The night being fine, Lefarge walked slowly to his home near 
the Place de la Bastille. As he paced along he thought over 
the statement he had just listened to. If it was true, it appeared 
at first sight entirely to clear M. Boirac from suspicion. If he 
was in Paris on Monday he could not have sent the letter to 
Dupierre ordering the statue. That was received on Tuesday 
morning, and must therefore have been posted in London the 
previous day. If he was at Brussels and Malines, he obviously 
could not have met the cask in London. The first thing would 
therefore be to test the statement by independent inquiries. He 
reviewed it again in detail, taking a mental note of all the points 
on which confirmation should be obtainable. 

First of all, it should be easy to find out whether he really 
was in Paris up till Tuesday evening. Frangois and the other 
servants could tell him this with regard to Sunday, Sunday night, 
and Monday night, and the office staff at the pump manufactory 
could testify to Monday and Tuesday morning. The servants 
could also tell whether he unpacked the statue on Monday eve¬ 
ning. There was then the question of the time he left his office 
on Tuesday; that could easily be ascertained. With regard to the 
restaurant at Charenton, M. Boirac would be a well-dressed and 
striking luncher at a place in such a locality, and would therefore 
undoubtedly have been specially noticed. If he really did lunch 
there, confirmation should be easily obtainable, particularly as 
the episode of the telephone would further call attention to the 
visit. The receipt of these telephone messages should also be 
easy to substantiate, as well as the leaving of the luggage at the 
Gare du Nord. Confirmation from the Gare du Nord cloak¬ 
room attendant, as well as from the waiters in the restaurant in 
the Place de la Bastille, could hardly be expected, owing to the 
larger number of strangers these men served, but both places 
would be worth trying. Inquiries at Malines might prove Boirac’s 
visit, and certainly would show whether he had a brother there, 
as well as whether the house was locked up on the day in question. 
The staff in the Hotel Maximilian in Brussels would know 
whether or not he was there on the Wednesday night, and could 
tell about the receipt of the telephone message booking the room. 


LEFARGE HUNTS ALONE 


181 


Finally, it would be worth finding out if Berlioz’s Les Troyens 
was really given on that evening at the Theatre de la Monnaie. 

As Lefarge thought over the matter, he saw that the statement 
was one which admitted of a good many tests, and he felt that, 
if it stood those he had enumerated, it might be fully accepted. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI 

The Seine was looking its best on the following morning, as 
Lefarge boarded an east-bound steamer at the Pont des Artes, 
behind the Louvre. The day was charming, the air having some 
of the warmth and colouring of summer, without having lost the 
clear freshness of spring. As the boat swung out into the current, 
the detective recalled the last occasion on which he had embarked 
at this same pier—that on which he and Burnley had gone 
downstream to Crenelle to call on M. Thevenet at the statuary 
works. This time the same quest took him in the opposite direc¬ 
tion, and they passed round the He de la Cite, along the quais, 
whose walls are topped by the stalls of the book-vendors of the 
Latin Quarter, past the stately twin towers of Notre Dame, and 
under the bridge of the Metropolitaine opposite the Care d’Auster- 
litz. As they steamed up the broad river the buildings became 
less and less imposing, till before they had covered the four miles 
to the suburb of Charenton, where the Marne pours its waters 
into the Seine, trees and patches of green had begun to appear. 

Landing at Charenton, which was as far as the steamer went, 
Lefarge strolled up the street in the direction of the station, 
looking for a restaurant with an overhanging, half-timbered front. 
He had not to make a long search. The largest and most pre¬ 
tentious cafe in the street answered the description and, when 
he saw telephone wires leading to it, he felt it was indeed the 
one he sought. Entering, he sat down at one of the small 
marble-topped tables and called for a bock. 

The room was fair sized, with a bar at one corner, and a small 
dancing stage facing the door. But for the detective, it was 
untenanted. An elderly, white-moustached waiter passed back 
and forward from some room in the rear. 

‘Tleasant day,” said Lefarge, when this man came over with 
his bock. “I suppose you don’t get busy till later on?” 

182 


THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI 


183 


The man admitted it. 

“Well, I hear you give a very good lunch, anyway,” continued 
the detective. “A friend of mine lunched here some days ago 
and was much pleased. And he’s not so easy to satisfy either.” 

The waiter smiled and bowed. 

“We try to do our best, monsieur. It is very gratifying to learn 
that your friend was satisfied.” 

“Did he not tell you so? He generally says what he thinks.” 

“I am not sure that I know your friend, monsieur. When was 
he here?” 

“Oh, you’d remember him right enough if you saw him. There 
he is.” Lefarge took a photograph of Boirac from his pocket 
and handed it over. 

“But yes, monsieur. Quite well I remember your friend. 
But,” he hesitated slightly, “he did not strike me as being so much 
pleased with the lunch as you suggest. I thought indeed he 

considered the restaurant not quite-” He shrugged his 

shoulders. 

“He was not very well, but he was pleased right enough. It 
was last Thursday he was here, wasn’t it?” 

“Last Thursday, monsieur? No, I think it was earlier. Let 
me see, I think it was Monday.” 

“I made a mistake. It was not Thursday. I remember now 
it was Tuesday he said. Was it not Tuesday?” 

“Perhaps it was, monsieur, I am not certain; though I rather 
think it was Monday.” 

“He telephoned to me that day from Charenton—I think he 
said from here. Did he telephone from here?” 

“Yes, monsieur, he made two calls. See, there is the telephone. 
We allow all our patrons to use it.” 

“An excellent idea. I am sure it is much appreciated. But 
there was an unfortunate mistake about the message he sent me. 
It was making an appointment, and he did not turn up. I am 
afraid I misunderstood what he said. Could you hear the mes¬ 
sage? Perhaps, if so, you would tell me if he spoke of an 
appointment on last Tuesday?” 

The waiter, who up to then had been all smiles and amiability, 
flashed a suspicious little glance at the detective. He continued 
to smile politely, but Lefarge felt he had closed up like an 


184 


THE CASK 


oyster in his shell, and when he replied: could, not hear, 

monsieur. I was engaged with the service,” the other suspected 
he was lying. 

He determined to try a bluff. Changing his manner and speak¬ 
ing authoritatively, though in a lower tone, he said:— 

‘‘Now, look here, gargon. I am a detective officer. I want 
to find out about those telephone messages, and I don’t want 
to have the trouble of taking you to the Surete to interrogate 
you.” He took out a five-franc piece. “If you can tell me 
what he said, this will be yours.” 

A look of alarm came into the man’s eyes. 

“But, monsieur-” he began. 

“Come now, I am certain you know, and you’ve got to tell. 
You may as well do it now and get your five francs, as later 
on at the Surete and for nothing. What do you say now? 
Which is it to be?” 

The waiter remained silent, and it was obvious to Lefarge 
that he was weighing his course of action. His hesitation con¬ 
vinced the detective that he really did know the messages, and 
he determined to strike again. 

“Perhaps you are doubtful whether I really am from the 
Surete,” he suggested. “Look at that.” 

He displayed his detective’s credentials, and the sight seemed 
to bring the other to a decision. 

‘T will tell you, monsieur. He first called up some one that 
I took to be his valet, and said he was going unexpectedly to 
Belgium, and that he wanted something left at the Gare du Nord 
for him—I did not catch what it was. Then he called up some 
other place and gave the same message, simply that he was goin^ 
to Belgium for a couple of days. That was all, monsieur.’^ m 

“That’s all right, gargon. Here’s your five francs.” 'M 

“A good beginning,” thought the detective, as he left the caf? 
and, turning his back on the river, passed on up the street. There 
could be no doubt that Boirac really had lunched at Charenton 
as he said. It was true the waiter thought he had been there on 
Monday, whereas Boirac had said Tuesday, but the waiter was 
not certain, and, in any case, the mistake would be a very easy 
one to make. Besides, the point could be checked. He could 




THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI 


185 


find out from M. Boirac’s chief clerk and butler on what day 
they received their messages. 

He walked to Charenton Station, and took a train to the Gare 
du Lyon. Hailing a taxi, he was driven to the end of the rue 
Championnet, the street in which was situated the pump factory 
of which M. Boirac was managing director. As he left the 
motor and began strolling down the footpath, he heard the clocks 
chiming the half-hour after eleven. 

The pump factory had not a very long frontage on the street, 
but, glancing in through an open gateway, Lefarge saw that it 
stretched a long way back. At one side of the gate was a four- 
story block of buildings, the door of which bore the legend, 
‘‘Bureau au Deuxieme fitage.” The detective strolled past with 
his head averted, looking round only to make sure there was 
no other entrance to the works. 

Some fifty yards or more beyond the factory, on the opposite 
side of the street, there stood a cafe. Entering in a leisurely 
way, Lefarge seated himself at a small marble-topped table in 
the window, from where he had a good view of the office door 
and yard gate of the works. Ordering another bock, he drew 
a newspaper from his pocket and, leaning back in his chair, 
began to read. He held it carefully at such a level that he could 
keep an eye over it on the works entrance, while at any moment 
raising it by a slight and natural movement would screen him 
from observation frpm without. So, for a considerable time he 
sipped his bock and waited. 

Several persons entered and left the works, but it was not till 
the detective had sat there nearly an hour and had consumed 
two more bocks, that he saw what he had hoped for. M. Boirac 
stepped out of the office door and, turning in the opposite direc¬ 
tion, walked down the street towards the city. Lefarge waited 
for five minutes longer, then, slowly folding up his paper and 
lighting a cigarette, he left the cafe. 

He strolled a hundred yards farther from the works, then 
crossed and turning, retraced his steps and passed in through 
the door from which the managing director had emerged. Hand¬ 
ing in his private card, he asked for M. Boirac. 

“I’m sorry, monsieur,” replied the clerk who had come forward, 
“but he has just gone out. I wonder you didn’t meet him.” 


186 


THE CASK 


said Lefarge, “I must have missed him. But if his 
confidential clerk is in, perhaps he could see me instead? Is he 
here at present?’^ 

^T believe so, monsieur. If you will take a seat, I’ll inquire.” 

In a few moments the clerk returned to say that M. Dufresne 
was in, and he was shown into the presence of a small, elderly 
man, who was evidently just about to leave for lunch. 

^T rather wanted to see M. Boirac himself, monsieur,” said 
Lefarge, when the customary greetings had passed. “It is on a 
private matter, but I think I need hardly wait for M. Boirac, as 
you can probably tell me what I want to know, if you will be so 
kind. I am, monsieur, a detective officer from the Surete”— 
here he produced his official card—“and my visit is in connection 
with some business about which we are in communication with 
M. Boirac. You will readily understand I am not at liberty to 
discuss its details, but in connection with it he called recently at 
the Surete and made a statement. There were, unfortunately, 
two points which he omitted to tell us and which we, not then 
understanding they were relevant, omitted to ask. The matter 
is in connection with his recent visit to Belgium, and the two 
points I wanted to ask him are, first, the hour he left the office 
here on that Tuesday, and second, the hour at which he tele¬ 
phoned to you from Charenton that he was making the journey. 
Perhaps you can tell me, or would you prefer I should wait and 
see M. Boirac himself? 

The chief clerk did not immediately reply, and Lefarge could 
see he was uncertain what line he should take. The detective 
therefore continued:— 

“Pray do not answer me if you feel the slightest hesitation. 
I can easily wait, if you would rather.” 

This had the desired effect and the clerk answered:— 

“Certainly not, monsieur, if you do not wish to do so yourself. 
I can answer your questions, or at least one of them. The other 
I am not so sure of. I received the telephone message from M. 
Boirac from Charenton at about quarter before three. That I 
am sure of as I particularly noted the time. As to when M. 
Boirac left here that morning, I cannot be so definite. He 
asked me at nine o’clock to draft a rather difficult reply to a 
letter and to take it in to him when ready. It took me half 


THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI 


187 


<in hour to compose, as several figures had to be got out to make 
the matter clear. I took it in at 9.30 and he had then gone.” 

“That was on the Tuesday, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, on the Tuesday.” 

“And it was on the Friday morning M. Boirac returned?” 

“That is so, monsieur.” 

Lefarge rose. 

“A thousand thanks, monsieur. I am very grateful to you 
for saving me a long wait.” 

He left the office and, walking to the Simplon station of the 
Metropolitaine, took the train for the centre of the town. He 
was pleased with his progress. As in the earlier stages of the 
inquiry, information was coming in rapidly. At first he was 
inclined to think he had already got enough to confirm the first 
portion of Boirac’s statement, then his training re-asserted itself, 
and he decided to go back to the house in the Avenue de I’Alma, 
and if possible get Frangois’ corroboration. He therefore alighted 
at Chatelet and took the Maillot train to Alma, walking down 
the Avenue. 

“Ah, M. Frangois,” he began, when the butler opened the door. 
“Here I am back to trouble you again. Can you spare me a 
couple of minutes?” 

“Certainly, monsieur. Come in.” 

They went to the same small sitting-room and Lefarge pro¬ 
duced his Brazilian cigarettes. 

“How do you like them?” he asked, as the butler helped 
himself. “Some people think they’re too strong, but they suit 
me down to the ground. Like strong whiffs, only without the 
cigar flavour. I won’t keep you a moment. It’s just about 
that bag of M. Boirac’s you took to the Gare du Nord last 
Tuesday. Tell me, were you followed to the station?” 

“Followed, monsieur? I? Why no, certainly not. At least 
not that I know of.” 

“Well, did you observe at the left luggage office a rather tall 
man, dressed in gray and with a red beard?” 

“No,” he answered, “I saw no one answering to the de¬ 
scription.” 

“At what hour did you leave the bag in?” 

“About 3.30, monsieur.” 


188 


THE CASK 


Lefarge affected to consider. 

“Perhaps it’s my mistake,” he said at last. “It was on Tues¬ 
day, wasn’t it?” 

“On Tuesday. Yes, monsieur.” 

“And M. Boirac sent his telephone call about two, did he not? 
I think he said about two.” 

“It was later, monsieur. It was nearer three. But, monsieur, 
you fill me with curiosity. How, if I may ask, did you know I 
took Monsieur’s bag to the station?” 

“He told me last night. He happened to mention he had 
unexpectedly gone to Belgium, and that you had taken his bag 
to the left luggage office.” 

“And the man with the red beard?” 

Lefarge, having got his information, was not much troubled 
to justify his little ruse. 

“One of our detectives. He has been on a case of theft of 
valuable luggage. I wondered if you had seen him. By the 
way, did M. Boirac bring back the bag with him? It wasn’t 
stolen?’^ 

Lefarge smiled, and the butler, politely presuming this was 
meant for a joke, smiled also. 

“It was not stolen, monsieur. He brought it back all right.” 

So far so good. M. Boirac had then, beyond any doubt or 
question, telephoned about 2.45 on Tuesday and had instructed 
the butler to take his bag to the Gare du Nord, as he had said. 
Further, he had called there himself and got the bag. So much 
was certain. But the statement he made of his movements on 
Sunday and Monday, and the unpacking of the cask on Monday 
night still remained to be tested. Lefarge spoke again:— 

“While I’m here, M. Frangois, I wonder would you mind 
checking one or two dates for my report?” He pulled out his 
notebook. “I will read out and perhaps you would please say 
if the items are correct. Saturday, 27th March, the day of the 
dinner-party.” 

“Correct, monsieur.” 

“Sunda,y, 28th, nothing special occurred. M. Boirac unpacked 
the cask in the evening.” 

“That’s not right, monsieur. It was on Monday the cask was 
unpacked.” 


THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI 


189 


“Ah, Monday.’^ Lefarge pretended to correct his notes. 
“Monday evening, of course. M. Boirac was at home on Sunday 
night, but he did not unpack it till Monday. That’s right, I 
think?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Then on Tuesday he went to Belgium, and returned home 
on Thursday evening?” 

“Correct, monsieur.” 

“Thanks very much. I’m glad you noticed that slip. I’ve 
got it right now, I think.” 

He remained conversing for a few minutes, making himself 
agreeable to the old man and telling him some of the adventures 
he had met with during his career. The more he saw of Fran- 
gois, the more he came to respect him, and he felt increasingly 
certain the old man’s statement was to be believed and that 
he would not lend himself to anything dishonourable. 

As if to balance the successes of the morning, during the whole 
of the afternoon Lefarge drew blank. After leaving the house 
in the Avenue de I’Alma, he questioned the clerks in the left 
luggage office at the Gare du Nord. Here he could get no in* 
formation at all. No one remembered Frangois putting in the 
bag, nor Boirac claiming it, nor could any record of the bag 
itself be turned up. Again, in the Place de la Bastille, where 
he spent some hours interviewing the waiters in the various 
restaurants, both in the Place itself and close by in the diverging 
streets, no better luck attended his efforts. He could find no 
trace of Boirac’s having dined in any of them. 

All the same, he was well satisfied with his day’s work. The 
information he had got was definite and valuable, in fact, he 
thought it conclusively established the truth of Boirac’s state¬ 
ment, at least in as far as Tuesday was concerned. If he could 
do as well in connection with the Wednesday and Thursday, he 
thought the manufacturer’s alibi would stand, and his innocence 
of the murder must then be admitted. 

To carry on the inquiry, he would have to visit Brussels, and 
he accordingly telephoned to the Gare du Nord engaging a 
berth on the 11.20 p.m. sleeping car train that night. Then, 
after calling up the Surete, he turned his steps homewards to 
dine and have a rest till it was time to start. 


190 


THE CASK 


He made a comfortable journey, and, having breakfasted in 
one of the cafes in the Place du Nord in Brussels, took an early 
train to Malines. He presented himself at the post office and 
asked if he could be directed to the residence of M. Armande 
Boirac. The clerk knew the name, though he was not certain 
of the address, but after inquiries at two or three of the principal 
shops, the detective found one at which M. Boirac dealt. 

‘‘Yes, monsieur, it’s a good four miles out on the Louvain 
road. A large white house with a red roof, standing in trees 
on the right-hand side, immediately beyond a cross roads. But 
I think M. Boirac is from home, if you wanted to see him.” 

“I did wish to see him,” returned Lefarge, “but I dare say 
Mme. Boirac would see me instead.” 

“I fear she is also away, monsieur. At least, I can only tell 
you what I know. She came in here about a fortnight ago, in¬ 
deed, I remember now it was just this day fortnight, and said: 
‘Oh, Laroche,’ she said, ‘you need not send anything for two or 
three weeks, till you hear from me again. We are going away 
and are shutting up the house. So, monsieur, I don’t think you’ll 
see either of them if you go out.” 

“I am greatly obliged to you, monsieur. I wonder if you 
could still further add to your kindness by informing me of 
M. Boirac’s place of business, where I might get his address. 
He is in business, I suppose?” 

“He is a banker, monsieur, and goes frequently to Brussels, 
but I don’t know in which bank he is interested. But if you 
go across the street to M. Leblanc, the avocat, I expect he could 
tell you.” 

Lefarge thanked the polite shopman and, following his advice, 
called on the avocat. Here he learned that M. Boirac was one 
of the directors of a large private bank, the Credit Mazieres, in 
the Boulevard de la Senne, in Brussels. 

He was half tempted to return at once to the capital, but a 
long experience had convinced him of the folly of accepting any 
statement without investigation. To be on the safe side, he 
felt he should go out and see for himself if the house was indeed 
empty. He therefore hired a small car and drove out along 
the Louvain road. 

The day was bright and sunny, though with a little sharpness 


THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI 


191 


in the air, and Lefarge enjoyed the run through the pleasant 
Belgian country. He hoped to get his work finished by the 
afternoon, and, in that case, he would go back to Paris by the 
night train. 

About fifteen minutes brought them to the house, which Le¬ 
farge immediately recognised from the shopman’s description. 
A glance showed it was empty. The gates of the avenue were 
fastened with a padlock and chain, and, through the surround¬ 
ing trees, the window shutters could be seen to be closed. The 
detective looked about him. 

Alongside the road close to the gates were three cottages, 
occupied apparently by peasants or farm labourers. Lefarge 
stepped up to the first of these and knocked. 

“Good morning,” he said, as a buxom, middle-aged woman 
came to the door. “I have just come from Brussels to see 
M. Boirac, and I find the house is locked up. Can you tell me 
if there is a caretaker, or any one who could tell me where 
M. Boirac is to be found?” 

“I am the caretaker, monsieur, but I do not know M. Boirac’s 
address. All he told me before he left was that any letters sent 
to the Credit Mazieres in Brussels would be forwarded.” 

“He has not then been gone long, I suppose?” 

“A fortnight to-day, monsieur. He said he would be away 
three weeks, so if you could call in about a week, you should see 
him.” 

“By the way, a friend of mine was to call on him here last 
week. I am afraid he must have missed him also. You did not 
see my friend?” He showed her Boirac’s photograph. 

“No, monsieur, I did not see him.” 

Lefarge thanked the woman and, having walked round to two 
or three of the other neighbouring houses and asked the same 
questions without result, he re-entered the car and was driven 
back to Malines. From there he took the first train to Brussels. 

It was close on two o’clock when he entered the ornate portal 
of the Credit Mazieres, of which M. Boirac was a director. The 
building was finished with extraordinary richness, no expense 
having been spared in its decoration. The walls of the vast 
public office were entirely covered with choice marbles—panels of 
delicate green separated by pilasters and cornice of pure white. 


192 


THE CASK 


The roof rose with a lofty dome of glass which filled the build¬ 
ing with a mellow and pleasant light. ‘‘No want of money 
here,’’ Lefarge thought, as he approached the counter and, hand¬ 
ing in his card, asked to see the manager. 

He had to wait for some minutes, then, following a clerk 
along a corridor decorated in the same style as the office, he -was 
ushered into the presence of a tall, elderly gentleman with clean¬ 
shaven features and raven black hair, who was seated at a large 
roll-top desk. 

Having exchanged greetings, Lefarge began:— 

“I wonder, monsieur, if you would be so very kind as to tell 
me whether the M. Armande Boirac, who is a member of your 
board, is the brother of M. Raoul Boirac, the managing director 
of the Avrotte Pump Construction Company of Paris? I went 
to Malines this morning to see M. Armande, but he was from 
home, and I do not wish to spend time in finding out his address 
and communicating with him, unless he really is the man I seek.” 

“Our director, monsieur,” replied the manager, “is a brother 
of M. Raoul. Though I don’t know the latter personally, I 
have heard our M. Boirac speak of him. I can also give you 
M. Armande’s present address, if you require it.” 

“I am exceedingly obliged, monsieur, and should be most 
grateful for the address.” 

“It is Hotel Rydberg, Stockholm.” 

Lefarge noted it in his book and, with further thanks, left 
the bank. 

“Now for the Theatre de la Monnaie,” he thought. “It is just 
around the corner.” 

He crossed the Place de Brouckke, and turned into the Place 
de la Monnaie. The box office of the theatre was open, and 
he interviewed the clerk, learning that Berlioz’s Les Troyens was 
given on the Wednesday night in question, as stated by 
M. Boirac. But a search for that gentleman’s name through the 
list of that evening’s bookings was unproductive, though, as 
the clerk pointed out, this did not mean that he was not present, 
but only that he had not reserved a seat. 

Lefarge’s next visit was to be the Hotel Maximilian. It was a 
large modern building occupying a complete block of the Boule- 


THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI 193 

vard Waterloo, not far from the Porte Louise. A polite clerk 
came to the bureau window to attend to him. 

‘T am expecting to meet a M. Boirac here,’^ Lefarge began. 
“Can you tell me if he is in the hotel?” 

“M. Boirac?” repeated the clerk, doubtfully, “I do not think 
we!* have any one of that name here at present.” He turned over 
a card index on the desk. “No, monsieur, he has not come 
yet.” 

Lefarge took out a photograph. 

“That is he,” he said, “a M. Raoul Boirac, of Paris.” 

“Oh, to be sure,” returned the clerk, “I know that gentle¬ 
man. He has frequently stayed with us, but he is not here at 
present.” 

The detective began to turn over the leaves of his pocket- 
book as if looking for something. 

“I hope I haven’t made a mistake in the date,” he said. “He 
wasn’t here recently by any chance, was he?” 

“He was here, monsieur, <^ite lately—last week in fact. He 
spent one night.” 

Lefarge made a gesture of annoyance. 

“I’ve missed him! ” he exclaimed. “As sure as fate I’ve missed 
him. Can you tell me what night he was here?” 

“Certainly, monsieur.” He turned up some papers. “He was 
here on Wednesday night, the 31st March.” 

“I’ve missed him. Now, isn’t that too bad? I must have 
mistaken the date.” The detective stood apparently considering. 

“Did he mention my name—Pascal, Jules Pascal?” 

The clerk shook his head. 

“Not to me, monsieur.” 

Lefarge continued, as if to himself:— 

“He must have come through from Paris that night.” And 
then to the clerk: “You don’t remember, I suppose, what time 
he arrived?” 

“Yes, I do. It was late in the evening, about eleven, I should 
think.” 

“Rather a chance coming at that hour, wasn’t it? He might 
easily have found you full?” 

“Oh, he had reserved his room. Earlier in the evening he 


194 THE CASK 

telephoned up from a restaurant in the Boulevard Anspach that 
he was coming.” 

^Was that before five? I was to meet him about five.” 

^‘Not so early, I think. More like half-past seven or even 
eight, as well as I can remember.” 

^‘Well, I can’t understand it at all. But I mustn’t be wasting 
your time. I’ll write a note and, if he should turn up again, 
perhaps you would be kind enough to give it to him? I’m 
much obliged to you, I’m sure.” 

Lefarge was an artist in his profession. He never made an 
impersonation without carrying through the details in the most 
thorough manner possible. He therefore wrote a note to M. 
Boirac in an assumed hand, regretting having missed him and 
carefully explaining some quite imaginary business. Having 
signed it “Jules Pascal” with a flourish, and left it with the clerk, 
he took his leave. 

As he passed out of the Boulevard Waterloo to return to the 
old town, the clocks were striking six. He had completed his 
errand and he was tired, though 'well satisfied with its result. 
He would rest in a picture house for an hour or two, then have 
a leisurely dinner and catch the midnight train for Paris. 

Sitting over his coffee in a quiet corner of one of the large 
restaurants in the Boulevard du Nord, he reviewed once more 
M. Boirac’s statement, ticking off in his mind the various items 
he had been able to check. On Saturday night Madame had 
disappeared. On Sunday and Sunday night Boirac was at his 
home. Monday he spent at his office, and that night he was 
again at home. On that same Monday evening he had unpacked, 
the statue from the cask. Tuesday morning saw him in his office] 
at the usual hour, but he had left again between nine o’clock and 
half-past. About 1.30 that same day he had lunched at Charen- 
ton, and shortly after 2.30 had telephoned to Frangois and to his 
office. Frangois had taken his bag to the Gare du Nord about 
3.30, and Boirac had got it from there, as he had brought it back 
with him from Belgium. He had telephoned to the Hotel Maxi¬ 
milian about 7.30 or 8.0 on the Wednesday, and had slept there 
that night. Next day he had returned to Paris, reaching his 
house in the evening. Further, it was true that his brother 
lived at Malines and that his house had been shut up on the 


THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI 195 

Wednesday in question, also that Berlioz’s Les Troyens was 
given on the night he said. 

So much was absolute bedrock fact, proved beyond any doubt 
or question. Lefarge then turned his mind to the portions of 
Boirac’s statement which he had not been able to verify. 

He could not tell whether the manufacturer had walked in the 
Bois de Vincennes before lunching at Charenton, nor if he had 
gone up the Seine after it. He could not trace his having 
dined in any of the cafes of the Place de la Bastille. He had 
not proved that he went to Malines or called at his brother’s 
house, nor did he know if he had been present at the opera in 
Brussels. 

As he considered the matter, he came to the conclusion that 
in the nature of things he could hardly have expected to confirm 
these points, and he also decided they were not essential to the 
statement. All the essentials—Boirac’s presence at Charenton 
and in Brussels—^particularly in Brussels—he had proved up 
to the hilt. He therefore came to the deliberate conclusion that 
the pump manufacturer’s statement was true. And if it was true 
M. Boirac was innocent of the murder, and if he was innocent— 
Felix . . . 

Next day he made his report to M. Chauvet at the Surete. 


CHAPTER XX 


SOME DAMNING EVIDENCE 

When Burnley left Lefarge on the pier at Boulogne, he felt 
as if he was losing a well-tried friend. Not only had the French¬ 
man, by his kindliness and cheerful companionship, made Burn- 
ley^s stay in the French capital a pleasant one, but his skill 
and judgment had been a real asset in the inquiry. 

And how rapidly the inquiry had progressed! Never before 
could Burnley recall having obtained so much information on 
any case in so short a time. And though his work was by no 
means complete, he was yet within reasonable distance of the 
end. 

After an uneventful crossing he reached Folkestone and imme¬ 
diately went to the police station. There he saw the men who 
had been on duty when the Pas de Calais had berthed on the 
Sunday in question. But his inquiries were without result. No 
one resembling either Felix or Mme. Boirac had been observed. 

He next tried the Customs officials, the porters who had taken 
the luggage from the boat, and the staff at the Pier Station. No 
information was forthcoming. 

“H’m. Means going to Glasgow, I suppose,” he thought and, 
turning into the telegraph office on the platform he sent a wire:— 

‘‘Henry Gordon, 327 Angus Lane, Sauchiehall Street, Glas¬ 
gow. Could you see me if I called at ten to-morrow. Reply 
Burnley, Scotland Yard.” 

Then he set off to walk to the Town Station to catch the next 
train for London. 

At New Scotland Yard he had an interview with his Chief, 
to whom he recounted the results of the consultation in the 
Surete, and his movements during the past two days, explaining 
that he proposed to go on to Glasgow that night if Mr. Gordon 

196 


197 


SOME damning evidence 

could see him the next morning. Tiien he went home for an 
hour’s rest. Ten o’clock saw him back at the Yard, where a 
telegram from Mr. Gordon was awaiting him. ^‘Can see you 
to-morrow at the hour named.” 

‘‘So far, so good,” he thought, as he called a taxi and was 
driven to Euston, where he caught the 11.50 express for the 
north. He usually slept well in trains, and on this occasion he 
surpassed himself, only waking when the attendant came round 
half an hour before they were due in Glasgow. 

A bath and breakfast at the Central Hotel made him feel 
fresh and fit as he sallied forth to keep his appointment in 
Angus Lane, Sauchiehall Street. Ten o’clock was chiming from 
the city towers as he pushed open the office door of No. 327, 
which bore the legend, “Mr. Henry Gordon, Wholesale Tea 
Merchant.” That gentleman was expecting him, and he was 
ushered into his private room without delay. 

“Good morning, sir,” he began, as Mr. Gordon, a tall man 
with small, fair side whiskers, and two very keen blue eyes, rose 
to meet him. “I am an Inspector from Scotland Yard, and I 
have taken the liberty of making this appointment to ask your 
help in an inquiry in which I am engaged.” 

Mr. Gordon bowed. 

“Well, sir, and what do you wish me to do?” 

“To answer a few questions, if you don’t mind.” 

“I shall be pleased if I am able.” 

“Thank you. You were in Paris recently, I believe?” 

“That is so.” 

“And you stayed at the Hotel Continental?” 

“I did.” 

“Can you tell me what day you left to return to England?” 

“Yes, it was Sunday, the 28th of March.” 

“You drove, if I am not mistaken, from the hotel to the Gare 
du Nord in the hotel bus?” 

“I did.” 

“Now, Mr. Gordon, can you recollect what, if any, other per¬ 
sons travelled with you in the bus?” 

The tea merchant did not immediately reply. 

“I did not specially observe, Mr. Inspector. I am not sure 
that I can tell you.” 


198 


THE CASK 


“My information, sir., is that three gentlemen travelled by 
that bus. You were one, and the man I am interested in was 
another. I am told that he conversed with you, or made at least 
one remark as you were leaving the bus at the station. Does 
this bring the circumstance to your mind?^’ 

Mr. Gordon made a gesture of assent. 

“You are correct. I recall the matter now, and the men too. 
One was small, stout, clean-shaven, and elderly, the other 
younger, with a black pointed beard and rather foppishly 
dressed. They were both French, I took it, but the black- 
bearded man spoke English excellently. He was talkative, but 
the other hadn’t much to say. Is it the bearded man you mean?” 

For answer Burnley held out one of Felix’s photographs. 

“Is that he?” 

“Yes, that’s the man sure enough. I remember him perfectly 
now.” 

“Did he travel with you to London?” 

“He didn’t travel with me, but he got to London all right, for 
I saw him twice again, once on the boat and once as I was 
leaving the station at Charing Cross.” 

Here was definite evidence anyway. Burnley congratulated 
himself and felt glad he had not delayed making this visit. 

“Did he travel alone?” 

“So far as I know. He certainly started alone from the hotel.” 

“And he didn’t meet any one en route that you saw?” 

“When I saw him on the boat he was talking to a lady, but 
whether they were travelling together or merely chance acquaint¬ 
ances I couldn’t say.” 

“Was this lady with him in London?” 

“Not that I saw. He was talking to a man on the platform 
as I drove out. A tall young fellow, dark and rather good- 
looking.” 

“Would you know this young man again if you saw him?” 

“Yes, I think so. I got a good look at his face.” 

“I should be obliged if you would describe him more fully.” 

“He was about five feet eleven or six feet in height, rather thin 
and athletic looking. He had a pale complexion, was clean¬ 
shaven except for a small black moustache, and was rather 
French looking. He was dressed in some dark clothes, a brown 


SOME DAMNING EVIDENCE 


199 


overcoat, I fancy, but of that I’m not sure. I imagined he was 
meeting your friend, but I had really no definite reason to 
think so.” 

“Now, the lady, Mr. Gordon. Can you describe her?” 

“No, I’m afraid I can’t. She was sitting beside him and I 
did not see her face.” 

“Can you tell how she was dressed?” 

“She wore a reddish brown fur coat, sable, I fancy, though 
I’m not certain.” 

“And her hat? You didn’t notice anything special about that.” 

“No, nothing.” 

“It hadn’t, for example, a wide brim?” 

“A wide brim? Not that I noticed. But it may have had.” 

“Was it windy where they were sitting?” 

“Every place was windy that day. It was an abominable 
crossing.” 

“So that if it had had a wide brim, the lady would have had 
difficulty in keeping it on?” 

“Possibly,” replied Mr. Gordon a trifle dryly, “but you prob¬ 
ably can form an opinion on that as well as I.” 

Burnley smiled. 

“We Scotland Yard people like to know everything,” he said. 
“And now, Mr. Gordon, I have to express my thanks for your 
courtesy and help.” 

“That’s all right. Would it be indiscreet to ask the reason 
of these queries?” 

“Not at all, sir, but I fear I am not at liberty to give you 
much information. The man with the pointed beard is suspected 
of having decoyed a French lady over to England and murdered 
her. But, you will understand, it is so far only a matter of 
suspicion.” 

“Well, I should be interested to hear how it turns out.” 

“I am afraid you will hear, sir. If this man is tried, I expect 
your evidence will be required.” 

“Then for both our sakes I hope your case will not go on. 
Good-day, Mr. Burnley. Glad to have met you.” 

There being nothing to keep him in Glasgow, the Inspector 
returned to the Central and took the midday London express. 
As it thundered southwards across the smiling country, he 


200 


THE CASK 


thought over the interview he had just had. He could not help 
marvelling again at the luck that had pursued his efforts ever 
since the inquiry began. Nearly every one he had interviewed 
had known at least something, if not always exactly what he 
wanted. He thought how many thousands of persons crossed 
the Channel each week whose journey it would be absolutely 
impossible to trace, and here, in the one instance that mattered, 
he had found a man who had been able to give him the very 
information he needed. Had Felix not gone in the bus, had 
Mr. Gordon not been so observant, had the circumstances not 
fallen out precisely as they did, he might never have ascertained 
the knowledge of Felix’s movements that day. And the same 
applied all through. Truly, if he did not get a complete case 
it would be his own fault. 

And yet the evidence was unsatisfactory. It was never con¬ 
clusive. It had a kind of thus-far-and-no-farther quality which 
always pointed to a certain thing, but stopped short of certainty. 
Here there was a strong presumption that Mme. Boirac had 
crossed with Felix, but no proof. It might, however unlikely, 
have been some one else. Nearly all the evidence he had got 
was circumstantial, and he wanted certainty. 

His mind switched over to the case itself. He felt the proba¬ 
bility of Felix’s guilt had been somewhat strengthened. Mr. 
Gordon’s statement was entirely consistent with that hypothesis. 
One would naturally expect the journey to be carried out just as 
it had been. In Paris, the lovers would be careful not to be 
seen together. At a station like the Gare du Nord, where ac¬ 
quaintances of both might easily be present, they would doubt¬ 
less ignore each other’s existence. On the boat they would prob¬ 
ably risk a conversation, particularly as the deck was almost 
deserted owing to the weather, but in London, especially if Felix 
expected some one to meet him, they would follow their Paris 
plan and leave the station separately. Yes, it certainly worked in. 

The Inspector lit one of his strong cigars and gazed with un¬ 
seeing eyes at the flying landscape as he continued his rumina¬ 
tions. On arrival in London what would be their next step? 
Felix, he expected, would shake off his friend, meet Madame at 
some prearranged spot, and in all probability take her to St. 
Malo. Then he recalled that the housekeeper had been granted 


SOME DAMNING EVIDENCE 


201 


a holiday, and they would doubtless arrive to find a house with¬ 
out food or fire, empty and cheerless. Therefore would they not 
go to an hotel? He thought it likely, and he began to plan a 
possible future step, a visit to all the probable hotels. But while 
speculating on the best to begin with, it occurred to him that if 
Felix had really committed the murder, it must, almost cer¬ 
tainly, have been done at St. Malo. He could not conceive it 
possible at a hotel. Therefore probably they did go to the villa 
after all. 

He went a step further. If the murder had taken place at 
St. Malo, the cask must have been packed there. He recalled 
the traces this operation had left in Boirac’s study. Surely 
some similar indications must have been left at the villa? If 
the cask had stood on a carpet or even possibly a linoleum, he 
might expect marks of the ring. And if not, there was the saw¬ 
dust. He did not believe every trace of sawdust could have 
been removed. 

It had been his intention in any case to search the house, 
and he took a mental note when doing so to look with special 
care for any such traces. This search, he decided, should be his 
next business. 

On the following morning, therefore, he set out for St. Malo 
with his assistant. Sergeant Kelvin. As they drove, he explained 
the theory about the unpacking of the cask, and pointed out 
what, if this had been done, they might expect to find. 

The house was empty as, owing to Felix still being in the hos¬ 
pital, the housekeeper’s leave had been extended. Burnley opened 
the door with a key from Felix’s bunch and the two men entered. 

Then took place a search of the most meticulous thorough¬ 
ness. Burnley began in the yard and examined each of the out¬ 
houses in turn. These had concrete floors and marks of the 
cask itself were not to be expected, but they were carefully 
brushed and the sweepings examined with a powerful lens for 
traces of sawdust. All their contents were also inspected, Felix’s 
two-seater, which was standing in the coach-house, receiving its 
full share of attention. Then the searchers moved to the house, 
one room after another being gone over in the same painstaking 
way, but it was not till they were doing Felix’s dressing-room 
that Burnley made his first discovery. 


202 


THE CASK 


Several of Felix’s suits were hanging in a press, and in the 
right-hand side pocket of one of the coats—that of a blue lounge 
suit—there was a letter. It was crumpled and twisted, as if 
thrust carelessly into the pocket. Burnley did not at first notice 
anything interesting or important about it, till, reading it for the 
second time, it flashed across his mind that here, perhaps, was 
the very thing for which they had been searching—the link in 
that chain of evidence against Felix which up to then had been 
missing. 

The letter was written on a sheet of rather poor quality note- 
paper in a woman’s hand, rather uneducated both as to caligraphy 
and diction—such a letter, thought Burnley, as might be written 
by a barmaid or waitress or shopgirl. There was no water or 
other distinctive mark on it. It bore no address, and ran as 
follows:— 

‘‘Monday, 

“My Dearest Leon. —^It is with a heavy heart I take up my 
pen to write these few lines. What has happened to you, dearest? 
Are you ill? If you are, I will come out to you, no matter what 
happens. I can’t go on without you. I waited in all yesterday 
hoping you would come, same as I waited in all the Sunday 
before, and every night of the week, but you didn’t come. And 
the money is nearly done, and Mrs. Hopkins says if I can’t pay 
next week I’ll have to go. I’ve sometimes thought you were 
tired of me and weren’t going to come back at all, and then I 
thought you weren’t that sort, and that you were maybe ill or 
away. But do write or come, for I can’t go on any longer with¬ 
out you. 

“Your heartbroken 

“Emmie." 

When Burnley glanced over this melancholy epistle it seemed 
at first merely to indicate that Felix was no better than he might 
be, and it was not till he had read it again that its immense 
significance struck him. What if this paper supplied the motive 
of the murder? What if it had opened to Mme. Boirac a chapter 
in Felix’s life which otherwise would have remained closed, and 
which he intended should remain closed? As Burnley thought 
over it he believed he could at least dimly reconstruct the scene. 


SOME DAMNING EVIDENCE 


203 


Felix and Madame had arrived at St. Malo, and then in some 
way, by some act of extraordinary carelessness on Felix’s part, she 
got hold of the letter. A quarrel would be inevitable. What 
would Felix do? Probably first snatch the letter from her and 
thrust it into his pocket out of sight. Then, perhaps, try to 
pacify the angry lady, and, finding this impossible, the quarrel 
would get worse and worse till finally in a paroxysm of passion 
he would seize her throat and choke out her life. The murder 
committed, he would be so upset that he would quite probably 
forget all about the letter. The oversights of criminals were 
notorious. 

The more the Inspector considered the matter, the more likely 
his theory seemed. But here again he had to recognise it was 
entirely surmise. No proof that this had taken place was forth¬ 
coming. It was another case of the thus-far-and-no-farther evi¬ 
dence he had been deploring in the train. At all events it sug¬ 
gested another line of inquiry. This girl must be found and the 
relations between her and Felix gone into. Burnley foresaw much 
arduous work in front of him. 

At length he put the letter away in his notebook, and the 
search continued. Finally, as it was beginning to get dusk, every 
room had been done except the study where Felix and the In¬ 
spector had had their midnight discussion. 

‘T think we had better come back to-morrow,” said Burnley. 
“There’s no use in searching by lamplight.” 

Accordingly, the next morning saw them again at work. They 
crawled over the floor so as to get every part of the carpet between 
themselves and the light, but could find no impressions. They 
peered with their lenses in the pile of the carpet, they felt be¬ 
tween the arms and seats of the padded leathern chairs, all to 
no purpose. And then Burnley made his second discovery. 

Between the study and the dining-room adjoining there was a 
door, evidently unused, as it was locked and the key was gone. 
On the study side this door was covered by a heavy curtain of 
dark green plush. In front of the curtain, and standing with 
its back to it, was a small chair whose low, leather-padded back 
formed a half-circle with the arms. In his anxiety to leave no 
part of the carpet unexamined, Burnley had moved this chair 
aside. 


204 


THE CASK 


As he stooped at the place where the chair had been, a bright 
object sticking to the curtain caught his eye. He looked more 
closely. A small, slightly bent, gold safety-pin, bearing a tiny 
row of diamonds, was caught in the braid at the top of the hem. 
The point had not penetrated, and the pin fell to the floor when 
Burnley touched the plush. 

He picked it up. 

“That’s rather a fine thing even for a natty boy like Felix,” 
he said as he showed it to Kelvin. And then he stood quite still 
as it flashed across his mind that here, perhaps, was another link 
in the chain that was being forged about Felix—a link possibly 
even more important than any of the foregoing. What if it 
did not belong to Felix at all? It looked too dainty and delicate 
for a man’s use. What if it was a lady’s? And, most important 
question of all, what if that lady was Mme. Boirac? If this 
proved true, his case was complete. 

Dropping into the arm-chair he had occupied on the occasion 
of his midnight interview with Felix, he considered the possi¬ 
bilities opened up by his new discovery, endeavouring to evolve 
some theory of how a pin or brooch belonging to the deceased 
lady could have been dropped where he found this one. As he 
did so, a picture of what might have happened gradually grew 
in his mind. First, he thought it likely that a lady in evening 
dress would wear such a pin, and it might easily be at her neck 
or shoulder. And if she had sat in that chair with her back to 
the curtain, and any one had caught her by the throat and 
forced her head backwards, what could be more likely than that 
the pin should be pulled out in the struggle? And if it were 
pulled out it almost certainly would drop where or whereabouts 
he found it. 

The Inspector recognised again that this was all surmise, but 
it was strengthened by the fact that the pin was undoubtedly 
bent as if it had been pulled out of something without being 
unhooked. The more he thought over it the more likely his 
idea seemed. At all events it would be easy to test it. Two 
points suggested themselves to his mind which would settle it 
conclusively. First, if the pin were Madame’s, the maid Suzanne 
would recognise it. The arrangement of the diamonds made it 
quite distinctive. The girl would also know if Madame wore it 


SOME DAMNING EVIDENCE 


205 


on the night of the dinner-party. Secondly, if it were pulled out 
of Madame’s dress, the latter would probably be torn or at least 
marked. Both these points could easily be ascertained, and 
he decided he would write to Paris about them that night. 

He put the brooch into a pocket case, and, getting up, resumed 
his search of the study. For a time he pursued his labours with¬ 
out result, and then he made another discovery which struck him 
as being of even greater importance than that of the pin. He had 
completed his examination of the furniture, and now, for over 
an hour, had been seated at Felix’s desk going through drawer 
after drawer, reading old letters and examining the watermarks 
of papers and the alignment of typewritten documents. Felix 
evidently had some of the defects of the artistic temperament, 
for his papers were jumbled together without any attempt at 
filing or classification—accounts, receipts, invitations, engage¬ 
ments, business letters—all were thrust higgledy-piggledy into the 
first drawer that came handy. But Burnley had methodically 
gone through every one without finding anything of interest. 
None of the papers had the watermark of that ordering the statue 
from Dupierre, none of the typewriting had the defective letters 
of that ostensibly from Le Gautier to Felix. The Inspector had 
just reflected that he had only to go through the half-dozen 
shelves of books and his work would be done, when he made his 
third find. 

On the desk lay a number of sheets of blotting paper folded 
pamphlet-wise, it being evidently Felix’s custom to blot his wet 
papers between two of the leaves. Following his usual routine, 
the Inspector fetched a mirror from the bathroom, and with its 
aid examined the sheets from each edge in turn. At the fourth 
of these sheets he stopped suddenly with a little gesture of 
triumph, for there, clearly revealed in the mirror, were some 
words he had seen before:— 

.s-s th.s.c. .. ... 1.t. 

.le... fo.wa.. . .med_ly to . .e . .ove .dd.ess. 

I do . .t kn.w th. e.a.t pric., but . .der.t. .d.t is about 1500 
francs. I therefore enclose notes for that 

It was the bottom of the first page of the letter ordering the 
statue from Dupierre I Here was certainty: here, at last, proofs 



206 


THE CASK 


of the most complete kind! Felix had ordered the statue and 
like a fool had blotted his letter and omitted to destroy the 
blotsheet! 

The Inspector chuckled with content at his find. Felix had 
ordered the statue. That was now certain. And if he had done 
so he was responsible for its first journey, and therefore un¬ 
doubtedly for its second and third. In fact, it was now evident 
he had arranged all the movements of the cask, and, if so, he 
must unquestionably have put in the body, and if he put in 
the body he must be the murderer. 

Then there was the further point about the paper. The paper 
on which this letter had been written was the same as that on 
which the letter about the lottery and the bet was typed. Felix 
had stated he had received this letter by post, but at the dis¬ 
cussion in M. Chauvet’s office the probability that he himself was 
the author had been recognised. This probability was now 
strengthened by finding he had had in his possession the peculiar 
French paper which had been used. 

Truly these three discoveries, the letter signed “Your heart¬ 
broken Emmie,” the bent brooch on the curtain, and the tell¬ 
tale impression on the blotting paper seemed to the Inspector 
entirely to settle the question of Felix’s guilt. 

On the other hand he had failed to find any trace of the un¬ 
packing of the cask, and his search had been so thorough that he 
almost felt impelled to the conclusion that it had not been there 
at all. And then a possible explanation struck him. Suppose 
Felix had got a cart and brought the cask to St. Malo, intending 
to remove it again the following morning. Where would he put 
it for the night? It was too heavy to move by himself, and he 
would want to have a helper. What then would he do? Why, 
leave it on the cart, of course! His obvious plan would be to 
stable the horse and open the cask where it stood—on the cart. 
And if he dropped some sawdust in the process, the wind would 
see to that. There would be none left now. 

He felt sure he was on the right track, and then he had a 
further idea. If a horse were stabled at the villa all night, some 
traces should surely be visible. He went to the yard again 
and began a new quest. But this time he had no luck. He 
was forced to conclude no horse had been kept. 


SOME DAMNING EVIDENCE 


207 


The possibility that the carter might have left his vehicle and 
taken the horse away with him for the night next occurred to 
him, but he thought that unlikely, and left the question undecided 
in the meantime. 

On his return to Scotland Yard, the Chief heard his story with 
close attention, and was much impressed by his discoveries. He 
gave his views at some length, ending up:— 

‘We shall send the pin over to Paris and see if that girl 
identifies it. Indeed, whether or not, I think we have a sufficient 
case against Felix to go into court. By the way, I don’t think 
I told you I sent a man to his firm, the poster people, and found 
that he was absent on holidays during the week the cask was 
travelling backwards and forwards to Paris. This, of course, is 
not evidence against him, but it works in with our theory.” 

Two days later a wire came from M. Chauvet:— 

“Suzanne Daudet identifies pin as Madame’s property.” 

“That settles it,” said the Chief, and a warrant was made out 
for Felix’s arrest, so soon as he should be well enough to leave the 
hospital. 



PART III—LONDON AND PARIS 













CHAPTER XXI 


A NEW POINT OF VIEW 

Of the millions who unfolded their papers a few mornings after 
the events described in the last chapter, there were few but felt a 
thrill of excitement as their eyes fell on the'headlines, “The Cask 
Mystery. Arrest of Leon Felix.’^ Though by no means all the 
facts discovered by the police had become public, enough had 
leaked out to arouse a keen and general interest. The tragic cir¬ 
cumstances of the case, no less than the baffling mystery in which 
it was shrouded, intrigued the popular imagination and, though 
the police were early credited with having the usual clue and the 
customary arrest was stated to be imminent, none outside the 
official ranks had any real idea in what direction suspicion was 
tending. 

But to none of those millions did the news come with such a 
sense of personal shock and affront as to our old acquaintance. 
Dr. William Martin, of The Elms, near Brent village, on the Great 
North Road. Dr. Martin, it will be remembered, was the man 
who, on the night on which Constable Walker watched from be¬ 
hind his tree, called at St. Malo and insisted on Felix acompany- 
ing him home to play bridge. The two men were close friends. 
Many an afternoon they had spent together on the banks of a 
neighbouring trout stream, many an evening had slipped rapidly 
away round the doctor’s billiard table. And with Martin’s family 
also Felix was a favourite. No member of it but was pleased to 
welcome the Frenchman to the house, or but had some special 
confidence to share with him. 

At first Dr. Martin could hardly believe his eyes as they rested 
on the fatal headlines. That Felix, his friend, his trusted com¬ 
panion, should be arrested! And for murder! The thought was 
so incredible, so utterly horrible, he could not take it in. But, 
unlike the nightmare to which he compared it, the idea had 
permanence. Though his thoughts might wander, it was always 
there, grim and terribly definite, for them to return to. 

211 


212 


THE CASK 


He began to think over his friend’s circumstances. Felix had 
always been reticent about his life, but to the doctor he had 
seemed a lonely man. He lived alone, and Martin had never 
known him to have visitors staying in the house. Nor could the 
doctor recall the Frenchman’s ever having spoken of relatives. 
“Who,” he wondered, “will help him now?” 

But with so kindly and warm-hearted a man as Dr. Martin, 
such a question could not long remain unanswered. “I must go 
and see him,” he thought. “I must find out who is going to act 
for him. If he has no one, then I must do the best I can myself.” 

But a practical difficulty arose. How were orders to visit 
prisoners obtained? The doctor did not know. For a man of 
his age and standing he was singularly ignorant of legal matters. 
But when such came his way he invariably adopted the same 
simple expedient. He “saw Clifford.” This difficulty he would 
meet in the same way. He would “see Clifford.” 

“Clifford”—otherwise John Wakefield Clifford, senior partner 
of Messrs. Clifford and Lewisham, Solicitors, Grey’s Inn—was 
Martin’s man of business, friend, and crony. The chance that 
they took the same weekly half-holiday had thrown them together 
on the links, and they had followed up the acquaintanceship by 
occasional visits at each other’s houses. Mr. Clifford was an 
almost startling contrast to the breezy doctor. Small, elderly, and 
rather wizened, with white hair and moustache, and dressed 
always with meticulous care, he seemed the embodiment of con¬ 
ventional propriety. His manner was precise and dry, but the 
fortunate gift of a sense of humour saved him from becoming dull. 

He was a fine lawyer. His admirers, who were many, held that 
an opinion from him was as good as Counsel’s any day, and knew 
that, beneath the keenness which made him so formidable an 
opponent, there lay a deep vein of very real human kindness. 

A press of unavoidable business kept Martin at work till the 
afternoon, but three o’clock saw him ascending the stairs of 
Messrs Clifford and Lewisham’s office. 

“How are you, Martin?” the senior partner greeted him. “I 
am glad to see you. This is an unexpected pleasure.” 

“Thanks, old chap,” returned the doctor, accepting the cigarette 
the other offered, and sinking back into a deep, leather-lined arm¬ 
chair. “But I’m afraid there won’t be much pleasure about my 


A NEW POINT OF VIEW 213 

visit. It’s business, and nasty business at that. Have you a few 
minutes to spare?” 

The little man bowed gravely. 

‘‘Certainly,” he said, “I am at your service.” 

“It’s about that neighbour of mine, Leon Felix,” went on the 
doctor, plunging without further preamble into his subject. “You 
saw he was arrested last night on a charge of murdering the 
woman whose body was found in the cask? You know about it?” 

“I read the account in this morning’s paper. And so Felix was 
a neighbour of yours?” 

“Yes, and a close friend. He was in and out of the house like 
one of the family.” 

“Indeed? I am sorry to hear that.” 

“Yes. I thought a good deal of him and I’m naturally upset. 
We all are, as a matter of fact. I wanted your advice as to what 
could be done for him.” 

“You mean with regard to his defence?” 

“Yes.” 

“Have you seen him since his arrest?” 

“No. That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you about. I 
am not quite sure how you get an order.” 

“That can be obtained where a sufficient reason for its applica¬ 
tion can be shown. I understand, then, that you are unaware of 
his own plans for his defence?” 

“Yes. My idea was to see him and talk the thing over, and, 
unless he has made some other arrangement, to ask you to under¬ 
take it.” 

The lawyer nodded slowly. Martin’s suggestion was eminently 
satisfactory to him. Apart from the mere money involved, this 
case, from its unusual and dramatic nature, promised to be at 
least one of the most famous of the year. He decided that if it 
came his way he would attend to it personally, and see that no 
stone was left unturned to secure an acquittal. 

“If you put the case in our hands,” he replied at length, “quite 
apart from our personal friendship, you may depend on our doing 
our utmost for your friend. But I am afraid it will be an ex¬ 
pensive business. We shall have to retain counsel, perhaps two 
or even three men, and their fees are not negligible. Then, as 
you can imagine”—Mr. Clifford gave a wintry little smile—“we 


214 


THE CASK 


also have to live, or at all events we think so. There will un¬ 
questionably be expense in hunting up witnesses, a private de¬ 
tective may have to be employed, in short, the defence of a big 
case means heavy outlay. Now, can your friend meet this? 
What are his circumstances financially?’^ 

'T think he is all right,” answered Martin, ‘‘but, in any case, 
the money will be my affair. Felix may pay what he can. I 
shall be responsible for the rest.” 

Clifford looked at the speaker keenly. 

“Very handsome of you, Martin, I’m sure.” He hesitated a 
moment as if about to continue the subject, then, with a change 
of manner, he went on:— 

“I think, in that case, you should see Felix and ascertain his 
plans. If you can spare the time now, I shall go with you to 
Bow Street and try and procure for you an immediate visiting 
order. If, after your conversation, you find you require our 
assistance, we shall be very pleased to take up the case; if not, 
you are perfectly free to go elsewhere. Is that agreed?” 

“Thank you, Clifford. That’s all right. Nothing could be 
better.” 

After introducing his prospective client to the authorities at the 
famous police station, the lawyer excused himself on the ground 
of another engagement, while Martin sat down to await the order. 
The formalities took some time, and it was not till nearly five that 
the door of Felix’s cell opened to admit his friend. 

“Martin!” cried the unhappy inmate, springing up and seizing 
his visitor’s hand in both his own. “But this is good of you! I 
hardly dared to expect you.” 

“Couldn’t see a pal in a hole without butting in,” answered the 
doctor gruffly, somewhat affected by the warmth of the other’s 
welcome. “You’re a nice one, getting yourself into such a mess, 
eh? What have you been up to that’s raised this dust?” 

Felix passed his hand wearily over his forehead. 

“My God, Martin,” he groaned, “I don’t know. I’m absolutely 
at sea. I know no more about the wretched business than you 
do. The proceedings to-day were purely formal, so that the 
evidence against me—^whatever it can be—did not come out. I 
can’t conceive what they have got hold of, that has made them 
suspect me.” 


A NEW POINT OF VIEW 215 

‘TVe heard nothing about the case at all. I just came along 
to see you when I saw what had happened.’^ 

‘‘Martin, I can never thank you! I can never repay you! I 
thought of writing to you to-day to ask your help, and I should 
probably have done it to-morrow. But you can’t think what it 
means to me, your coming without being asked. It means, for 
one thing, that you don’t believe this abominable charge? 
Doesn’t it?” 

“Well, naturally. You keep your heart up and don’t get 
flustered. You’ve got some friends left still. All the family are 
upset about the thing. The mater’s shocked, and so are the boys. 
They all say for you to cheer up, and that the mistake is sure to 
be put right soon.” 

“God bless them for that,” cried Felix, rising and pacing the 
cell in evident emotion. “Tell them—^how much I appreciate— 
what all their thought means to me.” 

“Rot!” said the doctor shortly. “What would you expect? 
But now, I have only a minute or two here, and what I want to 
ask you is this, what plans have you made for your defence?” 

“Defence? None, I fear. I just haven’t been able to think 
about it. I haven’t an idea who to turn to, or what to do. What 
-would you advise?” 

“Clifford.” 

“Eh? What? I don’t follow.” 

“Employ Clifford, of Clifford and Lewisham. He’s a dry stick, 
but as clever as they’re made, and a good sort. He’s your man.” 

“I don’t know him. Do you think he would take up the case?” 

“Sure. Fact is, I went around to ask him how I could get an 
order to see you—I know him pretty well—and I pumped him. 
The firm would take it on if they were asked, but that means 
himself, and you couldn’t have a better man.” 

“Martin, you put new life into me! God bless you for all 
you’re doing! Will you arrange it with him? But, wait a 
minute, can I afford it? Are his fees very high?” 

“What can you afford?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Say a thousand pounds.” 

“More than enough. I shall arrange it with him at once.” 

The friends conversed for some minutes, and then a warder 
opened the door of the cell. Martin’s time was up. He left Felix 


216 


THE CASK 


cheered by the promise of a further visit, and with tears of thank¬ 
fulness glistening in his eyes. 

Determined to lose no time in completing his work, Martin 
returned direct to the offices of Messrs Clifford and Lewisham. 
But there the day’s work was over, and all but one or two junior 
clerks had already left. The doctor therefore made an appoint¬ 
ment for the next day and, with a glow of righteous self-satisfac¬ 
tion, went home to tell his family what he had done. 

On the following afternoon he again found himself in the solici¬ 
tor’s office. 

^‘Now,” said Mr. Clifford, when it had been definitely agreed 
that his firm was to take up the case, ‘T have to warn you that 
proceedings will be slow. First, the prosecution will make up 
their case—get depositions of the evidence, you know, and so on— 
and that will take time. We, of course, shall also immediately 
start work, but it is improbable we shall make much headway till 
we learn the full evidence against us. Additional time will there¬ 
fore be required for the preparation of the defence. If Felix is 
returned for trial—and I fear from what I have heard, he will 
be—^weeks and months will probably elapse before both sides are 
ready. You and I shall therefore require to exercise patience.” 

‘T can believe it,” muttered the doctor. ^‘You lawyers take the 
devil of a time over everything.” 

“We can’t cover our mistakes like you, so we have to be care¬ 
ful,” retorted the lawyer with his dry, wintry smile. 

Martin smote his thigh. 

“Ha! ha!” he laughed. “That’s good. You had me there. 
But I musn’t be wasting your time. There were some things you 
wanted to speak to me about?” 

“Yes,” admitted Clifford, “a couple of points. Firstly, I pro¬ 
pose to retain Heppenstall—you know, Lucius Heppenstall, the 
K.C. He may want one or two juniors. I suppose that is all 
right?” 

“Of course. You know what is best to be done.” 

“The other point is that I want you to tell me everything you 
possibly can about Felix.” 

“As a mater of fact,” returned Martin, “I can’t tell you very 
much. I was just thinking over what I knew of him, and I was 
amazed it was so little. We became acquainted about four years 


A NEW POINT OF VIEW 


217 


ago. Felix had just taken St. Malo, an empty house a couple of 
hundred yards from my own, and the first thing he did was to go 
and get pneumonia. I was called in, but the attack was bad, and 
for a time it was touch and go with him. However, he pulled 
through, and, during his convalescence, we became very good 
friends. When he came out of the hospital I invited him to my 
house for a week or two—^he had only a not very satisfactory 
housekeeper at St. Malo—and the family took to him, till he 
became quite like one of ourselves. Since then he has been in 
and out like a pet dog. He dines quite often, and, in return, 
insists on taking the boys to the theatre, and the mater when 
she’ll go.” 

^^He lives quite alone, you say?” 

“Quite, except for the housekeeper.” 

“And you haven’t met any of his people?’^ 

“None. I’ve never even heard of his people. I don’t think he 
has any. If he has, he never speaks of them.” Martin hesitated 
for a moment, then went on: “It may be my fancy, but it has 
struck me that he seems to avoid women, and the only cynical 
remarks I have heard him make have been at their expense. I 
have often wondered if he has had some love disappointment. 
But he has never hinted at such a thing.” 

“How does he live?” 

“He is an artist. He designs for some poster firm in the City, 
and he draws for the better-class magazines. I do not know if 
he has private means, but he seems to do well enough.” 

“Do you know anything about this extraordinary business of 
the cask?” 

“No, except this. On—let me see, what night was it? Monday, 
I think—^yes, Monday, the 5th of April, a couple of friends turned 
in, and we wanted a rubber of bridge. I went round to St. Malo 
to see if Felix would make a fourth. That was about 8.30 o’clock. 
At first he hesitated, but afterwards he agreed to come. I went 
in and waited while he changed. The study fire had just been 
freshly lighted and the room, and indeed the whole house, was cold 
and cheerless. We played bridge till nearly one. The next thing 
we heard was that he was in St. Thomas’s Hospital, prostrated 
from a mental shock. Not professionally, but as a friend, I went 
to see him, and then he told me about the cask.” 


218 


THE CASK 


‘‘And what did he tell you?” 

“He said he had had a letter saying a cask of money was being 
sent him—he will tell you the details himself—and that he had 
just got this cask from the steamer and brought it to St. Malo 
when I called on that Monday evening. The reason he hesitated 
about leaving home was that he was on tenterhooks to unpack 
the cask.” 

“Why did he not tell you about it?” 

“I asked him that, and he said he had had trouble with the 
steamer people about getting it away, and he did not want any 
one to know where the cask was, lest it should get round to these 
steamer folk. But I would rather he would tell you about that 
himself.” 

“I shall ask him, but I want to hear from you anything you 
know personally about it.” 

“Well, there is nothing more than that.” 

“Can you tell me anything of his friends?” 

“Nothing. I think only twice in all the years I have known 
him have I met acquaintances of his, in each case artists who were 
looking at the paintings in his studio, and who I know did not 
stay the night. Whom he met during the day I can’t tell.” 

The lawyer sat silent for some minutes. 

“Well,” he said at length, “I think that is all we can do to-day. 
I’ll let you know how things go on, but, as I warned you before, 
the busines will be slow.” 

With a hearty handshake and a word of thanks the doctor took 
his leave, while Clifford sat down to write to Heppenstall, K.C., to 
know if he would take up the case. 


CHAPTER XXII 


FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY 

The next day Mr. Clifford was occupied with various technical 
formalities, and in obtaining from the authorities such information 
as was then available about the case, and it was not till the follow¬ 
ing morning he set out to make the acquaintance of his client. 
He found him seated in his cell, his head on his hands, and an 
expression of deep gloom upon his face. The two men talked 
generalities for some time, and then the lawyer came to business. 

‘‘Now, Mr. Felix,” he said, “I want you please to tell me every¬ 
thing you know of this unhappy affair—everything, no matter how 
seemingly minute or unimportant. Remember—^I cannot impress 
it on you too strongly—for a man in your position it is suicidal to 
withhold information. Keep nothing back. Your confidence will 
be as safe as the confessional. If you have made mistakes, done 
foolish things, or criminal things, or even—forgive me—if you 
have committed the crime you are charged with, tell me the whole 
truth. Else I shall be a blind man leading the blind, and we shall 
both have our fall.” 

Felix rose to his feet. 

“I will do so, Mr. Clifford. I will keep nothing back. And 
first, before we go on to the details, one point must be settled.” 
He raised his hand. ‘T swear to you, in the presence of Almighty 
God, in whom I believe, that I am innocent of this crime.” He 
sat down and then continued: “I don’t ask you if you believe 
me; I am willing to leave that till afterwards, but I want now, at 
the commencement of our intercourse, to put that fact as it were 
on record. I absolutely and categorically deny all knowledge of 
this hateful and ghastly crime. Now let us get on.” 

‘T am glad you have made this statement and in this way, Mr. 
Felix,” said the lawyer, who was impressed by his client’s manner 
and earnestness. “Now, please, begin at the beginning and tell 
me with all the detail you can, what you know of the matter.” 

219 


220 


THE CASK 


Felix had the gift of narration, and, apart from the appeal to 
Clifford's professional instincts, he held the lawyer enthralled as 
he related the strange story of his experiences. 

“I hardly know where to begin,” he said. “The first thing 
directly bearing on the affair was a meeting between myself and 
some friends at the Cafe Toisson d’Or in Paris, but before I come 
to that I think I ought to explain just who I am and how I, a 
Frenchman, come to be living in London. I think this is neces¬ 
sary, as the question of my previous knowledge of poor Annette 
Boirac is certain to come up. What do you say, Mr. Clifford?” 

“Necessary to tell this?” thought the lawyer, to whom the fact 
that Felix had had knowledge of the dead woman came as an ugly 
discovery. “Why, my good fellow, no other point in the whole 
case is likely to be more important for you.” But aloud he only 
said:— 

“Yes, I consider it most necessary.” 

“Very good, then. As I said, I am a Frenchman, and I was 
born in Avignon in 1884. I was always keen on drawing, and, as 
my teachers thought there was promise in my work, I early moved 
to Paris and entered the atelier of M. Dauphin. I studied there 
for several years, living in a small hotel off the Boule Mkhe. My 
parents were both dead, and I had inherited a little money—^not 
much, but enough to live on. 

“Amongst those working at the art school was a young fellow 
called Pierre Bonchose. He was some four years my junior, and 
was an attractive and thoroughly decent chap. We became close 
friends, eventually sharing the same room. But he was not much 
good at his work. He lacked perseverance, and was too fond of 
supper parties and cards to settle down seriously to paint. I was 
not, therefore, surprised when one day he told me he was fed up 
with art, and was going into business. It seemed he had applied 
to an old friend of his father’s, the senior partner of Messrs. 
Roget, the wine exporters of Narbonne, and had been offered a 
position in that firm, which he had decided to accept. 

“But a month or two before he left Paris he had introduced to 
the atelier a new pupil, his cousin. Mile. Annette Humbert. They 
seemed more like brother and sister than cousins, and Bonchose 
told me that they had been brought up together, and had always 
been what you English call ^pals.’ This, Mr. Clifford, was none 


FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY 221 

other than the unfortunate young lady who afterwards became 
Mme. Boirac. 

“She was one of the loveliest girls that ever breathed. From 
the first moment I saw her I admired her as I had never before 
admired any one. As Fate would have it we were both making 
certain pastel studies and, being thus thrown together, we became 
interested in each other’s work. The inevitable happened, and I 
fell deeply in love with her. She did not discourage me, but, as 
she was kind and gracious to every one, I hardly dared to hope 
she could care for me. At last, to make a long story short, I took 
my courage in both hands and proposed, and I could hardly be¬ 
lieve my good fortune when she accepted me. 

“It then became necessary for me to approach her father. M. 
Humbert came of an old and distinguished family, endowed with 
much pride of birth. He was well off, though not rich, and lived 
almost in state in his old chateau at Laroche, occupying a leading 
position in the local society. To broach such a subject to him 
would have been an ordeal for any one, but for me, who lacked 
so many of the social advantages he possessed, it was a veritable 
nightmare. And my forebodings were not disappointed. He re¬ 
ceived me courteously, but scouted my proposal. Mile. Humbert 
was too young, she did not yet know the world nor her own mind, 
he had other plans for her future, and so on. Also, he delicately 
indicated that my social standing and . means hardly fitted me to 
enter a family of such age and traditions as his ov/n. 

“I need not try to describe the effect this decision had upon 
both of us, suffice it to say that Annette, after a stormy scene, sub¬ 
mitted to her father’s authority, leaving the art school and going 
for an indefinite visit to an aunt in the southern provinces. I, 
finding life without her insupportable in my old haunts, also left 
Paris, and, coming to London, obtained a position as artist with 
Messrs. Greer and Hood, the advertisement poster printers of 
Fleet Street. What with their salary and my spare time drawings 
for Punch and other papers, I soon found myself in receipt of 
over a thousand a year, and then realised one of my ambitions and 
moved to a small villa in the suburbs, buying at the same time a 
two-seater to take me to and from my work. This villa, St. Malo, 
was situated near Brent, on the Great North Road. Here I set¬ 
tled down, alone except for an elderly housekeeper. I fitted up a 


222 THE CASK 

large attic as a studio where I began studies for a picture I had 
in mind. 

“But before I had been a month in my new home^ I developed 
a nasty attack of pneumonia. Martin, who was the nearest 
doctor, was called in, and so began the friendship from which your 
presence here to-day has resulted. 

“I lived a somewhat humdrum existence for some two years, 
and then one morning I had a pleasant surprise in the shape of a 
visit from my old friend, Pierre Bonchose. He explained that, 
having done pretty well in business, he had been sent to represent 
permanently his firm in London. He also told me that after a 
year of what he called ‘sulking,’ his cousin Annette had, at her 
father’s desire, married a M. Boirac, a wealthy manufacturer, that 
he had seen her coming through Paris, and that she appeared to 
be quite happy. 

“Bonchose and I resumed our former intimacy, and, during the 
next summer, that is, two years ago, we had a walking tour 
through Cornwall. I mention this because of an incident which 
occurred near Penzance, and which profoundly modified our rela¬ 
tions. While bathing in a deserted cove of that rocky coast, I 
was caught in an off-shore current and, in spite of all my efforts, 
found myself being carried out to sea. Bonchose, hearing my 
shouts, swam out after me and at the imminent risk of his own 
life assisted me back into still water. Though he made light of 
the matter, I could not forget the danger he had faced to save me, 
and I felt I had incurred a debt which I should be glad of an 
opportunity to pay. 

“But though, as I have said, I had settled down in London, I 
did not by any means entirely desert Paris. First at long inter¬ 
vals, but afterwards more frequently, I ran over to see my friends 
and to keep myself in touch with artistic circles in France. About 
eight months ago, on one of these visits, it happened that I 
dropped into an exhibition of the work of a famous sculptor, 
and there I incidentally came across a man whose conversation 
interested me extremely. His hobby was statuary, and he was 
clearly an expert in his subject. He told me he had amassed one 
of the largest private collections in the world, and as we became 
more intimate he invited me to dine that evening and see it. I 
went, and on arrival he introduced me to his wife. You can 


FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY 


223 


imagine my feelings, Mr. Clifford, when I found she was none 
other than Annette. Acting on the impulse of the moment, we 
met as strangers, though I am sure that, had M. Boirac not been 
so full of his collection, he must have noticed our embarrassment. 
But as we sat at dinner I found that, after the first shock of 
recognition, her presence left me cold. Though I still profoundly 
admired her, my infatuation had passed away, and I realised that 
whatever love I might have had for her was dead. And from her 
manner I felt sure her feelings towards myself had undergone a 
similar change. 

“M. Boirac and I became good friends over his collection, and, 
on his invitation, I several times repeated my call during subse¬ 
quent visits to Paris. 

^‘That, Mr. Clifford, is all of what I may call my preliminary 
history. I am afraid it is rather involved, but I have tried to 
make it as clear as I could.” 

The lawyer bowed gravely. 

^‘Your statement is perfectly clear. Pray proceed.” 

come now,” went on Felix, ‘‘to the events connected with the 
cask and therefore apparently with the tragedy. I think it will 
be better to tell you these in their chronological order, even 
though this makes my story seem a little disconnected?” 

Again Mr. Clifford inclined his head and the other resumed:— 

“On Saturday, 13 th March, I crossed to Paris for the week-end, 
returning the following Monday morning. On the Sunday after¬ 
noon I happened to drop into the Cafe Toisson d’Or in the rue 
Royale and there found a group of men, with most of whom I was 
acquainted. They were talking about the French Government 
lotteries, and in the course of conversation one of them, a M. 
Alphonse Le Gautier, said to me, ‘Why not have a little flutter 
with me?’ I ridiculed the idea at first, but afterwards agreed 
to enter a thousand francs jointly with him. He undertook to 
arrange the matter, the profits, if any, being halved between us. 
I paid him over my five hundred francs and, believing it was the 
last I should hear of the affair, dismissed it from my mind. 

“A week after my return to England I had a visit from Bon- 
chose. I saw at once he was in trouble and after a while it all 
came out. It seemed he had been losing heavily at cards, and to 
meet his liabilities he had gone to moneylenders, who were now 


224 


THE CASK 


pressing him for repayment. In answer to my questions, he ex¬ 
plained that he had paid off all his loans with the exception of 
one for £600. That sum he was utterly unable to raise, and if 
he failed to procure it before the 31st, that was, in about a week, 
he was a ruined man. I was much annoyed, for I had helped him 
out of similar scrapes twice before, on each of which occasions he 
had given me his word not to play again. I felt I could not go on 
throwing good money after bad, and yet because of our friendship 
and the debt I owed him for saving my life, I could not see him 
go to the wall. Divining what was in my mind, he assured me he 
had not come to beg, saying that he realised I had already done 
more for him than he deserved. Then he said he had written to 
Annette telling her the circumstances, and asking, not for a gift, 
but for a loan on which he would pay four per cent interest. I 
talked to him seriously, offering no help, but asking him to keep 
me advised of how things went on. But though I did not tell him, 
I decided I would pay the £600 rather than see him stuck. 

“ T am going to Paris on Friday,’ I ended up, ^and hope to dine 
at the Boirac’s on Saturday. If Annette speaks to me on the 
subject, I shall tell her you are making an unholy mess of things.” 

“ ‘Don’t put her against helping me,’ he pleaded. I said I 
would not influence her at all, and then he asked me when I 
returning, so that he could meet me and hear what had been said. 
I told him I would cross by Boulogne on Sunday. 

“That week-end, a fortnight after the meeting in the Cafe Tois- 
son d’Or, I was again in the French capital. On the Saturday 
morning as I sat in the Hotel Continental meditating a vist to 
M. Dauphin’s atelier^ a note was handed to me. It was from Ann¬ 
ette, and in it she said she wanted to speak to me in private, 
asking if I could come at 7.30 that night, instead of the dinner 
hour of 7.45, and requiring a verbal reply. I gave the necessary 
assurance to the messenger, who proved to be Annette’s maid, 
Suzanne. 

“I reached the Boirac’s house at the appointed hour, but I did 
not see Annette. As I entered, M. Boirac was passing through 
the hall, and, seeing me, he invited me into his study to look at 
an engraving which had been sent him on approval. Naturally, 
I could not refuse. We went to the study and examined the pic¬ 
ture. But there was another object in the study which I also saw 


FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY 


225 


and commented on. Standing on the carpet was a large cask, 
and, Mr. Clifford, you will hardly believe me when I tell you it 
was either the identical cask which was sent me containing poor 
Annette’s body, or else one so similar as to be indistinguishable!” 

Felix paused to let this signficant statement, as he evidently 
considered it, sink into the lawyer’s mind. But the latter only 
bowed and said:— 

“Pray proceed, Mr. Felix, with your statement.” 

“I was interested in the cask, as it seemed an unusual object 
to find in a study. I asked Boirac about it, and he explained that 
he had just purchased a piece of statuary, and that the cask was 
simply the special kind of packing case in which it had been sent 
home.” 

“Did he describe the statue?” asked the lawyer, interrupting 
for the first time. 

“No, except to say it was a fine group. He promised to show 
it to me on my next visit.” 

“Did he tell you from whom he had purchased it, or what price 
he had paid?” 

“Neither; the matter was only referred to incidentally as we 
were leaving the room.” 

“Thank you. Pray continue.” 

“We then went to the salon, but, as several visitors had already 
arrived, I could not, at that time, get a private word with Annette. 

“The dinner was an important social affair, the Spanish Ambas¬ 
sador being the principal guest. Before it was over M. Boirac 
was called from the house, owing to an accident having taken 
place at his works. He apologised for leaving, promising to re¬ 
turn speedily, but after a time a telephone message came to say 
the accident had been more serious than he had supposed, and he 
would be detained till very late or even all night. The guests 
began to leave about eleven, but, in obedience to a sign from 
Annette, I remained till all had gone. Then she told me she had 
received a letter from Bonchose which had much upset her. She 
did not mind his having got into difficulties—indeed, she thought 
a fright would do him good; but she was really troubled lest he 
might become a confirmed gambler. She wished for my candid 
opinion of him. 

“I told her exactly what I thought; that there wasn’t a bit of 


226 


THE CASK 


real harm in him, but that he had got into a bad set and that his 
only chance was to break with it. She agreed with me, saying he 
should not be helped until this breach had actually been made. 
We then discussed where the money was to come from. She, it 
appeared, could lay her hands on only £300, and, as she felt M. 
Boirac would disapprove, she did not wish to ask him for the 
remainder. She therefore proposed to sell a couple of her jewels 
—her own private property—and she asked me to undertake the 
matter for her. But I could not bring myself to agree to this, 
and I said that if she would advance the £300 she had, I would 
find the balance. At first she would not hear of it, and we had 
quite a heated argument. Finally I carried my point, and she 
went upstairs and brought down the money. I took my leave 
immediately afterwards, promising to let her know how the matter 
ended. She was much affected, for she was sincerely attached to 
him. The next day, Sunday, I returned to London.” 

‘T think you said, Mr. Felix,” interrupted Clifford, '‘that the 
last of the guests left at eleven?” 

"Yes, about then.” 

"And at what time did you yourself leave?” 

"About quarter to twelve.” 

"Then your conversation lasted about three-quarters of an hour. 
Now, did any one see you leave?” 

"No one except Annette. She came to the door with me.” 

"You returned to your hotel, I suppose?” 

"Yes.” 

"At what hour did you reach it?” 

"About half-past one, I should say.” 

"From Madame’s house to the Hotel Continental is about 
fifteen minutes’ walk. What, then, did you do in the interval?” 

"I felt wakeful, and thought a stroll would be pleasant. I 
walked across Paris; to the Place de la Bastille by the Rue de 
Rivoli, and back to the hotel by the Grands Boulevards.” 

"Did you meet any one you knew?” 

"No, not that I can recall.” 

"I am afraid this is important, Mr. Felix. Think again. Is 
there no one that could testify to meeting you on this walk? No 
waiter or other official, for example?” 


FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY 227 

“No/’ said Felix, after a pause, “I don’t think I spoke to a soul, 
and I certainly did not enter a cafe.” 

“You say you returned to London next day. Did you meet 
any one on the journey you knew?” 

“Yes, but it will be no help to me. I met Miss Gladys Devine 
on the Folkestone boat. But she cannot confirm this. As you 
must know, she died suddenly a week later.” 

“Miss Gladys Devine? Not the celebrated Miss Devine, the 
actress?” 

“The same. I have met her at supper parties in Paris.” 

“But you must be able to get confirmation of that? So well 
known a lady would be recognised wherever she went. But per¬ 
haps you visited her private cabin?” 

“No, I saw her on the boat deck. She was sitting in the shelter 
of one of the funnels. I joined her for about half an hour.” 

“But somebody must have seen you?” 

* “Possibly, but possibly not. You see, it was horribly rough. 
Almost every one was sick. People, an 3 rway, weren’t walking 
about.” 

“What about her maids?” 

“I did not see them.” 

“Now, Mr. Felix, what you must think over when I leave you 
is, first, what evidence can we get confirming your statement of 
how you spent your time between 11.0 and 1.30 on the Saturday 
night? and second, who saw you with Miss Devine on the Folke¬ 
stone boat? In the meantime, please continue your statement.” 

“Bonchose met me at Charing Cross. He was keen to know 
how I had fared. We drove to his rooms, where I told him the 
whole thing. I said I would hand him the £600 on condition he 
broke finally with his gambling friends. He assured me the breach 
had already been effected, and I therefore gave him the money. 
We then drove to the Savoy and, after a rather early dinner, I 
left him and went home.” 

“At what hour?” 

“About 8.30.” 

“How did you go?” 

“I took a taxi.” 

“From where?” 

“The Savoy commissionaire called it.” 


228 


THE CASK 


“Yes?’^ 

^The next thing was I received an astonishing letter,’^ and Felix 
went on to tell the lawyer about the typewritten letter signed “Le 
Gautier,” his preparations to obtain the cask, his visit to St. Kath¬ 
erine’s Docks, his interviews with the clerk, Broughton, and the 
manager of the dock office, his ruse to get the I. and C.’s note- 
paper, the forging of the letter to Harkness, the removal of the 
cask to St. Malo, his dining at Dr. Martin’s, the midnight inter¬ 
view with Burnley, the disappearance of the cask, its final re¬ 
covery, its unpacking, and the discovery of its terrible contents. 
‘‘That, Mr. Clifford,” he ended up, “is every single thing I know 
about the affair, good, bad, or indifferent.” 

“I congratulate you on the clear way you have made your 
statement,” returned the solicitor. “Now, excuse me while I think 
if there is anything further I want to ask you.” 

He slowly turned over the rather voluminous notes he had 
taken. 

“The first point,” he went on at length, “is the question of 
your intimacy with Madame Boirac. Can you tell me how many 
times you saw her since her marriage?” 

Felix considered. 

“About half a dozen, I should say, or perhaps eight or even 
nine. Not more than nine certainly.” 

“Excepting on the night of the dinner, was her husband present 
on all these occasions?” 

“Not all. At least twice I called in the afternoon and saw her 
alone.” 

“I think I need hardly ask you, but answer me fully all the 
same. Were there at any time any tender or confidential passages 
between you and Madame?” 

“Absolutely none. I state most positively that nothing passed 
between us which Boirac might not have seen or heard.” 

Again Clifford paused in thought. 

“I want you now to tell me, and with the utmost detail, exactly 
how you spent the time between your leaving Bonchose after din¬ 
ner on the Sunday night of your return from Paris, and your 
meeting the cask at St. Catherine’s Docks on the following Mon¬ 
day week.” 

“I can do so easily. After leaving Bonchose I drove out to St. 


FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY 


229 


Malo, as I told you, arriving about 9.30. My housekeeper was 
on holidays, so I went straight over to Brent village and arranged 
with a charwoman to come in the mornings and make my break¬ 
fast. This woman had acted in a similar capacity before. I 
myself was taking a week’s holidays, and each day I passed in the 
same manner. I got up about half-past seven, had breakfast, and 
went to my studio to paint. The charwoman went home after 
breakfast, and I got my own lunch. Then I painted again in the 
afternoon, and in the evening went into town for dinner and 
usually, but not always, a theatre. I generally got back between 
eleven and twelve. On Saturday, instead of painting all day, I 
went into town and arranged about meeting the cask.” 

“Then at ten o’clock on Wednesday you were painting in your 
studio?” 

“That is so, but why that day and hour?” 

“I will tell you later. Now, can you prove that? Did any one 
call in the studio, or see you there?” 

“No one, I’m afraid.” 

“What about the charwoman? What is her name, by the 
way?” 

“Mrs. Bridget Murphy. No, I don’t think she could tell where 
I was. You see, I practically did not see her at all. My break¬ 
fast was ready when I came down, and when I had finished I 
went direct to the studio. I don’t know when she went home, 
but I should think it was fairly early.” 

“What time did you breakfast?” 

“Eight nominally, but I wasn’t always very punctual.” 

“Do you remember, and have you any way of proving, what 
time you had breakfast on this particular Wednesday?” 

Felix thought over the question. 

“No,” he answered, “I don’t think so. There was nothing to 
distinguish that morning from the others.” 

“The point is important. Perhaps Mrs. Murphy would re¬ 
member?” 

“Posssibly, but I hardly think so.” 

“No one else could prove it? Were there no callers? No 
tradesmen’s messengers?” 

“None. One or two people rang, but I didn’t bother. I was 
expecting no one, and I just let them ring.” 


230 


THE CASK 


^‘An unfortunate omission. Now, tell me, where did you dine 
in town and spend the evenings?’^ 

^T’m afraid a different restaurant each night, and naturally a 
different theatre.” 

By dint of further questions Clifford obtained a list of all the 
places his client had visited during the week, his intention being 
to go round them in turn in search of material to build up an 
alibi. He was very disappointed with all he had heard, and the 
difficulties of his task seemed to be growing. He continued this 
examination. 

“Now, this typewritten letter, signed Le Gautier. Did you 
believe it was genuine?” 

“I did. I thought the whole thing absurd and annoying, but I 
did not doubt it. You see, I had actually entered for the lottery 
with Le Gautier, and fifty thousand francs was the sum we would 
have made, had we been lucky. I did think at first it was a 
practical joke on Le Gautier’s part, but he is not that kind of 
man, and I at last concluded it was genuine.” 

“Did you write or wire to Le Gautier?” 

“No. I got the letter late one evening on my return home. It 
was too late to do anything then, but I intended to wire next 
morning that I would go over, and not to send the cask. But 
next morning’s post brought a card, also typewritten, and signed 
‘Le Gautier,’ saying the cask had actually been despatched. I 
forgot to mention that in my statement.” 

Clifford nodded and again referred to his notes. 

“Did you write a letter to Messrs. Dupierre of Paris, ordering a 
statue to be sent to you, to the West Jubb Street address?” 

“No.” 

“Do you recollect the blotter on your study desk at St. Malo?” 

“Why, yes,” returned Felix, with a look of surprise. ‘ 

“Did you ever let that blotter out of your possession? 

“Not to my knowledge.” 

“Did you ever take it to France?” 

“Never.” 

“Then how, Mr. Felix,” asked the lawyer slowly, “how do you 
account for the fact that the blotted impression of such a letter, 
in your handwriting, was found on the blotter?” 

Felix sprang to his feet. 


FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY 231 

^‘What?” he cried. “WhaCs that you say? A letter in my 
handwriting? I don’t believe it! It’s impossible!” 

“I have seen it.” 

“You have seen it?” The speaker moved excitedly about the 
cell, gesticulating freely. “Really, Mr. Clifford, this is too much. 
I tell you I wrote no such letter. You are making a mistake.” 

“I assure you, Mr. Felix, I am making no mistake. I saw not 
only the impression on your pad, but also the original letter itself, 
which had been received by Messrs. Dupierre.” 

Felix sat down and passed his hand across his brow, as if dazed. 

“I cannot understand it. You can’t have seen a letter from me, 
because no such exists. What you saw must have been a forgery.” 

“But the impression on the blotter?” 

“Good Heavens, how do I know? I tell you I know nothing 
about it. See here,” he added, with a change of tone, “there’s 
some trick in it. When you say you’ve seen these things I’m 
bound to believe you. But there’s a trick. There must be.” 

“Then,” said Clifford, “if so, and I’m inclined to agree with 
you, who carried out the trick? Some one must have had access 
to your study, either to write the letter there, or to abstract your 
blotter or a page of it which could afterwards be replaced. Who 
could that have been?” 

“I don’t know. Nobody—or anybody. I can think of no one 
who would do such a thing. When was the letter written?” 

“It was received by Dupierre on Tuesday morning, 30th March. 
It bore a London postmark, therefore it must have been posted on 
Sunday night or Monday. That would be either the day or the 
day after you returned to London, after the dinner.” 

“Any one could have got into the house while I was away. If 
what you say is true, some one must have, but I saw no traces.” 

“Now, Mr. Felix, who is Emmie?” 

Felix stared. 

“Emmie?” he said. “I don’t understand. Emmie what?” 

Clifford watched the other keenly as he replied,— 

“Your heartbroken Emmie.” 

“My dear Mr. Clifford, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re 
talking about. ^Your heartbroken Emmie?’ What under the sun 
do you mean?” 

“It should be clear enough, Mr. Felix. Who was the girl that 


232 


THE CASK 


wrote to you recently imploring you not to desert her, and who 
signed herself, ‘Your heartbroken Emmie’?’’ 

Felix gazed at his visitor in amazement. 

“Either you’re mad or I’m mad,” he said slowly. “I have had 
no letter from any girl asking me not to desert her, and I have had 
no letter on any subject from any one signing herself Emmie. 
Really, I think you might explain yourself.” 

“Now tell me something else, Mr. Felix. You possess, I under¬ 
stand, two navy-blue suits?” 

The astonishment on the artist’s face did not lesson as he 
assented. 

“I want to know now when you last wore each of those suits.” 

“As it happens, I can tell you. One of them I wore on my 
Paris trip and again on the following Saturday when I went to 
town to arrange about the cask, as well as on the Monday and 
following days till I went to hospital. I am wearing it to-day. 
The other blue suit is an old one, and I have not had it on for 
months.” 

“I’ll tell you now why I ask. In the coat pocket of one of your 
blue suits, evidently, from what you tell me, the old one, was 
found a letter beginning, ‘My dearest Leon,’ and ending, ‘Your 
heartbroken Emmie,’ and in it the writer said—^but here I have a 
copy of it, and you may read it.” 

The artist looked over the paper as if in a dream. Then he 
turned to the other. 

“I can assure you, Mr. Clifford,” he said earnestly, “that I am 
as much in the dark as you about this. It is not my letter. I 
never saw it before. I never heard of Emmie. The whole thing 
is an invention. How it got into my pocket I cannot explain, but 
I tell you positively I am absolutely ignorant of the whole thing.” 

Clifford nodded. 

“Very good. Now there is only one other thing I want to ask 
you. Do you know the round-backed, leather-covered arm-chair 
which stood before the plush curtain in your study?” 

“Yes.” 

“Think carefully, and tell me who was the last lady to oc¬ 
cupy it.” 

“That doesn’t require much thought. No lady has ever sat in 


FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY 


233 


it since I bought it. Very few ladies have been in St. Malo since 
I took it, and these without exception were interested in art and 
were in the studio only.” 

“Now, don’t be annoyed, Mr. Felix, when I ask you once more, 
did Madame Boirac ever sit in that chair?” 

“I give you my solemn word of honour she never did. She was 
never in the house, and I believe I am right in saying she was 
never in London.” 

The lawyer nodded. 

“Now I have another unpleasant thing to tell you. Caught in 
the hem of that curtain and hidden by the chair, a pin was found 
—a diamond safety pin. That pin, Mr. Felix, was attached to 
the shoulder of Madame Boirac’s dress on the night of the dinner 
party.” 

Felix, unable to speak, sat staring helplessly at the lawyer. 
His faced had gone white, and an expression of horror dawned in 
his eyes. There was silence in the dull, cheerless cell, whose 
Walls had heard so many tales of misery and suffering. Clifford, 
watching his client keenly, felt the doubts which had been partly 
lulled to rest, again rising. Was the man acting? If so, he was 
doing it extraordinarily well, but. ... At last Felix moved. 

“My God!” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s a nightmare! I feel 
helpless. I am in a net, and it is drawing close round me. What 
does it mean, Mr. Clifford? Who has done this thing? I didn’t 
know any one hated me, but some one must.” He made a gesture 
of despair. “I’m done for. What can help me after that? Can 
you see any hope, Mr. Clifford? Tell me.” 

But whatever doubts the lawyer felt he kept to himself. 

“It is too soon to come to any conclusion,” he answered in a 
matter-of-fact tone. “In cases of difficulty such as this, I have 
frequently known some small fact to come out, perhaps accident¬ 
ally, which has cleared up the whole affair. You must not despair. 
We are only at the beginning. Wait for a week or two, and then 
I’ll tell you what I think.” 

“Bless you, Mr. Clifford. You put heart into me. But this 
matter of the pin. What can it mean? There is some terrible 
conspiracy against me. Can it ever be unravelled?” 

The lawyer arose. 


234 


THE CASK 


‘‘That’s what we have to try and do, Mr. Felix. I’m afraid I 
must be off now. Do as I say, keep up your heart, and U you 
can think of any evidence supporting your statements, let me 
know.” 

Having shaken hands, Mr. Clifford withdrew. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


CLIFFORD GETS TO WORK 

When Clifford had finished dinner that evening, he went to his 
study, and drawing a large arm-chair up to the fire, for the 
evenings were still cold, he lit a cigar and composed himself to 
master the details of his new case. To say that he was disap¬ 
pointed with Felix’s statement would not be to give a true indi- 
: cation of his state of mind. He was woefully chagrined. He had 
hoped and expected that his client would tell him something that 
would instantly indicate the line the defence should take, and 
instead of that he was puzzled to know where any defence at all 
was to come from. 

And the more he thought over it, the worse the outlook seemed. 
He went over the facts in order, marshalling them in his mind 
and weighing the bearing of each on the question of Felix’s 
innocence or guilt. 

There was first of all the fundamental question of what had 
taken place in the house in the Avenue de TAlma between 11.0 
p.m. and 1.15 a.m. on the night of the dinner party. At 11.0 
Annette Boirac was alive and well; at 1.15 she had disappeared. 
Felix was the last person, so far as was known, to see her alive, 
and it was not unreasonable to have expected him to have thrown 
some light on her fate. But he hadn’t. 

It was true he had explained the motive for his interview with 
Madame. Confirmation of the truth of this, Clifford thought, 
should be obtainable from an investigation of the affairs of 
Bonchose. But even if it was established, he did not see how 
it would help his client. It would not prove him innocent. In¬ 
deed, it might be argued that this very discussion had been the 
indirect cause of the elopement, if such took place. It had given 
Felix an opportunity to see Madame alone which otherwise he 
might not have had. And who could tell what dormant passions 
that private interview might not have aroused? No. There was 
no help here. 


235 



236 


THE CASK 


And the remainder of Felix’s statement was equally unfruitful. 
He had said that after conversing with the lady till 11,45 p.m., 
he had walked about Paris till half-past one. But by a singular 
coincidence he had not been seen leaving the house, he had not 
met any one he knew, and he had not been anywhere he was 
known. Was this, Clifford wondered, so singular a coincidence? 
Might it not simply mean that Felix’s story was untrue? 

Then he remembered the closing of the front door. Frangois 
had heard it shut at 1.0 a.m. If Felix left at 11.45, who shut it? 
As far as he could see, either Felix must be lying when he said 
he left at 11.45, or else Madame must have gone out by herself 
at the later hour. But the lawyer did not know which of these 
had happened, and the worst of it was there seemed no way of 
finding out. 

Equally useless for the defence was Felix’s identification of the 
fur-coated lady on the Folkestone boat. Even had this been Miss 
Devine, it did not prove Madame Boirac was not a traveller. 
Might not Felix, travelling with Madame, have seen the actress 
on board, her subsequent death suggesting his story? No, even 
if he could prove all that the artist had said about the crossing, 
it would not help matters. 

But Felix’s failure to find an alibi for himself was much more 
serious. Clifford had confidently expected a defence along these 
lines, and he was more than disappointed. He ran over the 
facts. The location of the man or men who had arranged the 
journeys of the cask was known at two periods; on the Wednes¬ 
day at 10.0 a.m. at Waterloo, and on the Thursday at 5.15 p.m. 
at the Gare du Nord. Clifford got out his Continental Bradshaw. 
To have been in Paris at the time named, a Londoner must have 
left by the 9.0 a.m. from Charing Cross on Thursday, and he 
could not have arrived back before 5.35 on Friday morning. 
Therefore Felix had only to prove an alibi at 10.0 on Wednesday 
morning, or between 9.0 on Thursday morning and 5.35 on 
Friday morning, and the greatest part of the case against him 
would be met. But this was just what he could not do. 

Clifford turned to his notes of the artist’s statement. Accord¬ 
ing to it, at 10.0 a.m. on Wednesday, Felix had been painting in 
his studio. But the chance of the housekeeper’s absence and the 
peculiar arrangement under which the charwoman got breakfast 


CLIFFORD GETS TO WORK 


237 


prevented this being proved. And like an idiot, Felix had heard 
people ringing at the door, and, because he did not wish to be 
disturbed, had not opened it. One of those callers might have 
saved him now. 

And then, with regard to Thursday and Thursday night. To 
have caught the 9.0 a.m. from Charing Cross, Felix must have 
left St. Malo at not later than 8.5. According to his statement, 
his breakfast was left ready for him at 8.0, and there certainly 
would not have been time for him to eat it. But there was 
nothing to prevent him having in two or three minutes dirtied 
the plates and carried away some food, to give the impression 
he had had his meal. Here there was hope of help from the 
charwoman. Clifford could not decide the point till he had 
interviewed her. 

He turned back to his notes. After breakfast, Felix, according 
to his statement, had painted without ceasing, except for a cup of 
cocoa at lunch time, until half-past six. He had then changed 
and gone to town, dining alone at the Gresham. Though he had 
seen no one he knew at the famous restaurant, there was a chance 
that a waiter or commissionaire or other official might have recog¬ 
nised him. He had left about nine and, feeling tired, he had 
returned straight home. There, no one could know of his presence 
till 7.30 the next morning, when Mrs. Murphy would expect to 
hear him answer her knock. 

But if he had been to Paris, meeting the cask at the Gare du 
Nord, he could have been home equally at 7.30 a.m. Therefore 
the evidence of his answering the knock would be immaterial. 
Certainly if Felix were telling the truth, the manner in which 
confirmation was eluding him was most unfortunate. But was 
Felix telling the truth? ... 

Then there were those three discoveries of Burnley at St. Male, 
the “Emmie” letter, the impression on the blotsheet, and the pin. 
Any one of these alone would have been highly damaging to 
Felix’s case; the three together seemed overwhelming. And yet 
Felix had not attempted a word of explanation. He had simply 
denied knowledge of all three. If the accused man could not ex¬ 
plain these damaging facts, how v/as Clifford to set about it? 

But nothing in the whole affair depressed the lawyer so much 
as the admissions Felix had made about his previous relations 


238 


THE CASK 


with Madame Boirac. It was, of course, true that Felix, a stranger 
introduced into the Boirac household, might have fallen in love 
with Madame and persuaded her to elope with him. But if 
Felix, instead of being a stranger, could be shown to have been 
not only desperately in love with, but actually formerly engaged 
to the mistress of the house, how tremendously the probabilities 
of such an elopement would be strengthened. What a picture a 
clever counsel could draw of this lady, tied to a man whom 
perhaps she detested, and with whom life in such case must 
have been an endless misery, brought unexpectedly in touch with 
the man of her real choice. . . . And her lover, his crushed-down 
feelings swelling up at the unlooked-for meeting, seeing her 
languishing in this bondage. . . . Why, the elopement would be 
amply accounted for. To Clifford it seemed that if the Crown 
got h 9 ld of the facts he had learnt, Felix was a doomed man. 
Indeed, the more he himself thought of the affair, the more doubt¬ 
ful of the artist’s innocence be became. As far as he could see, 
Felix had only one uncontrovertible point in his favour—^his sur¬ 
prise on seeing the cask opened. And this would prove a matter 
of medical testimony, and no doubt there would be contradictory 
evidence. . . . The lawyer could see very little light even here. 

And then he reminded himself it was not his business to try 
Felix. Innocent or guilty, he, Clifford, was there to do the best 
he could for him. But what form was that best to take? 

Till the morrow had dawned he sat smoking in his chair, turn¬ 
ing the case over in his mind, looking at the problem from every 
point of view, still without much result. But though he could 
not yet see the line his defence should follow, he was clear 
enough about his immediate next step. Obviously he must first 
see Bonchose, Mrs. Murphy, and the other persons of whom 
Felix had spoken, not only to test the latter’s story, but also in 
the hope of learning som^e new facts. 

Accordingly, next morning saw the lawyer ascending the steps 
of the house in Kensington in which the apartments of Mr. Pierre 
Bonchose was situated. But here he met with a disappointment. 
Mr. Bonchose had gone to the south of France on business and 
would not be home for three or four days. 

“That explains why he has made no attempt to see Felix 


CLIFFORD GETS TO WORK 239 

since his arrest,” said the lawyer to himself, as he turned away 
and hailed a taxi with the idea of a call on the charwoman. 

An hour later he reached the small village of Brent, on the 
Great North Road, and was directed to Mrs. Murphy^s cottage. 
The door was opened by a woman who had been tall, but was 
now shrunken, her sharp, careworn features and gray hair indi¬ 
cating that her life had been a struggle against odds. 

‘‘Good morning,” began the lawyer, courteously raising his 
hat. “You are Mrs. Murphy?” 

“I am sir,” returned the woman, “and would you come in?” 

“Thank you.” He followed her into the small, poorly-furnished 
living room, and sat cautiously down on the somewhat dilapidated 
chair she pulled forward. 

“You know, I suppose,” he went on, “that your neighbour, 
Mr. Felix of St. Malo, has been arrested on a very serious 
charge?” 

“ ’Deed then, I do, sir. And sorry I was to hear of it. A fine, 
decent man he was, too.” 

“Well, Mrs. Murphy, my name is Clifford, and I am the 
lawyer who is going to defend Mr. Felix. I wondered if you 
would be good enough to answer some questions, to help me in 
his defence?” 

“I would, sir, be glad to do it.” 

“You managed the house for him recently, while his house¬ 
keeper was away?” 

“I did, sir.” 

“And when did Mr. Felix ask you to do that?” 

“On Sunday evening, sir. I was just thinking of going to bed 
when he came to the door.” 

“Now tell me, please, exactly what you did each day at St. 
Malo.” 

“I went in the mornings, sir, and lit the fire and got his break¬ 
fast. Then I did out his room and washed up and left his lunch 
ready. He got his own lunch himself in the middle of the day, 
and went into London for dinner at night.” 

“I see. At what hour did you reach the house in the 
mornings?” 

“About seven o’clock. I called him at half-past seven and he 
had breakfast at eight.” 


240 


THE CASK 


“And about what hour did you leave?” 

“I could hardly be sure, sir. About half-past ten or eleven, 
or maybe later.” 

“Can you remember the Wednesday of that week? I suppose 
you were at St. Malo at ten o’clock?” 

“I was, sir. I was never left by ten any morning.” 

“Quite so. Now what I want to know is this: on that Wednes¬ 
day morning was Mr. Felix in the house at ten o’clock?” 

“So far as I know, he was, sir.” 

“Ah, but I want to be sure. Can you say positively he was 
there?” 

“Well, not to be certain, sir, I couldn’t.” 

“Now Thursday, Mrs. Murphy. Did you see Mr. Felix on 
Thursday?” 

The woman hesitated. 

“I saw him two or three mornings,” she said at last, “but I 
couldn’t be sure whether it was on Thursday. It might have 
been, though.” 

“You couldn’t tell me at what hour he took his breakfast that 
morning?” 

“Well, I could not, sir.” 

It was evident to Clifford that Mrs. Murphy, though an in¬ 
telligent woman, would be no use to him as a witness. He 
remained at her house for a considerable time, and was very 
probing and painstaking in his questions. But all to no purpose. 
While she corroborated what Felix had stated about his house¬ 
hold arrangements, she dashed any hope the lawyer might have 
had of establishing an alibi. 

By the time he again reached the city it was one o’clock. He 
decided he would lunch at the Gresham, and pursue his investi¬ 
gations among the staff. 

The head waiter, with whom he began, could not himself 
give any information, but he took Felix’s photo round among 
his men, and at last found one who had seen the artist. Felix, 
it appeared from this man’s statement, had dined there one 
evening some five or six weeks previously. The man, an Italian, 
remembered him because he had first supposed him to be a com¬ 
patriot. But, unfortunately, he could not fix the date, and no 
one else, so far as Clifford could learn, had seen the artist at 


CLIFFORD GETS TO WORK 


241 


all. Clifford had regretfully to admit that this evidence, like 
Mrs. Murphy’s, was useless. In the lawyer’s private judgment 
it undoubtedly tended to confirm Felix’s statement, and he found 
himself more and more inclined to believe the Frenchman. But 
a personal impression was one thing, and evidence in a court of 
law another. 

On reaching his office, he wrote to Bonchose, asking him 
to call on urgent business immediately on his return to London. 

The next day saw him again at Brent village. Felix had 
stated he had gone by train to town each evening of the fateful 
week, and it had occurred to the lawyer that possibly some of 
the railway officials might have noticed him travelling. He made 
exhaustive inquiries and at last found a ticket-collector who 
volunteered some information. Felix, said this man, was a regu^ 
lar traveller. He went to town each morning by the 8.57 and 
returned at 6.5 each evening. But the collector had noticed 
that for some days he had not travelled by these trains, but 
had instead gone up by the evening trains leaving Brent at 
either 6.20 or 6.47. The collector went off duty at seven o’clock, 
so he could not tell anything about Felix’s return. Nor could 
anyone else, so far as Clifford could ascertain. But unfortunately 
the collector could not state how long it was since the artist 
had changed his habits, still less could he say if he travelled up 
to town on the Thursday evening in question. 

Clifford then strolled to St. Malo in the hope of finding it 
was overlooked by some other house, the occupants of which 
might have seen the artist on the fateful Thursday. But here 
again he was disappointed. There was no house in the immediate 
vicinity. 

Puzzled as to his next step, the lawyer returned to his office. 
He found pressing business of another kind awaiting him, and 
for the remainder of that day, as well as the next two, he was 
too fully occupied to turn his attention seriously to the mur¬ 
der case. 

On the morning of the fourth day there was a letter from 
Mr. Lucius Heppenstall, K. C. It was written from Copenhagen, 
and the barrister explained that he was in Denmark on business 
and hoped to be back in about a week, when he and Clifford 
could meet and go into the case together. 


242 


THE CASK 


Hardly had Clifford finished reading the letter when a young 
man was announced. He was tall and slight, with dark hair 
and eyes, a small black moustache and a short, hooked nose, 
which gave him something of the appearance of a hawk. 

^‘Bonchose,” said Clifford to himself, and he was not mistaken. 

‘‘You have not heard of Mr. Felix’s arrest?” he asked, as he 
waved his visitor to an arm-chair and held out his cigarette 
case. 

“Not a word,” replied Bonchose, speaking good English, but 
with a foreign accent. He had a quick, vivacious manner, and 
moved sharply, as if on wires. “I cannot tell you how utterly 
surprised and shocked I was to get your note. But the thing 
is perfectly absurd—outrageous! Any one that knew Felix would 
know he could not commit such a crime. It is surely a mis¬ 
understanding that a very short time will clear up?” 

“I fear not, Mr. Bonchose; I very much fear not. Un¬ 
fortunately, the case against your friend is strong. The evidence 
is admittedly circumstantial, but it is strong for all that. Indeed, 
to be perfectly candid with you, I do not for the moment see 
any good line of defence.” 

The young man made a gesture of amazement. 

“You horrify me, sir,” he cried; “absolutely horrify me. You 
surely do not mean to suggest there is any chance of a con¬ 
viction?” 

“I am sorry to say that I do. There is a very great chance 
—^unless a good deal more comes to light than we know at 
present.” 

“But this is awful!” He wrung his hands. “Awful! First 
it was poor Annette and now Felix! But you don’t mean that 
nothing can be done?” There was real concern and anxiety in 
the young man’s tone. 

Mr. Clifford was satisfied. This man’s affection for and belief 
in his friend were genuine. Felix could not be altogether a 
villain to inspire such friendship. The lawyer changed his tone. 

“No, Mr. Bonchose,” he answered. “I do not mean that. All 
I mean is that the fight will not be easy. Mr. Felix’s friends 
will have to put their backs into it. And it is to begin that 
fight I asked you to call here^s soon as you returned.” 

“I got back early this morning, and I was here before your 


243 


CLIFFORD GETS TO WORK 

office opened. Take that as the measure of my willingness to 
help.” 

‘T do not doubt it, Mr. Bonchose. And now I want you please 
to tell me everything you can about Mr. Felix, and your own 
life, where it has touched his. Also about your unhappy cousin, 
the late Madame Boirac.” 

‘T shall do so, and if at any point I am not clear, please ask 
me questions.” 

Beginning by explaining who he and Annette really were 
—children of a younger daughter and the eldest son respectively 
of the late M. Andre Humbert of Laroche—^he gave an account 
of their childhood, their early love of art, their moving to 
M. Dauphin’s school in Paris, the meeting with Felix, and the lat¬ 
ter’s love for Annette. Then he told of his move to the wine 
merchant’s firm at Narbonne, his being sent to London, his joy 
at again meeting Felix, his weakness for cards, the help Felix 
had given him, and the recent serious money difficulties into 
which he had fallen. He recounted his having written on the 
matter to Annette, the hope expressed to Felix that he would 
see her on the subject, his meeting the artist at Charing Cross 
on the Sunday evening of his return to London, their dinner 
together, the receipt of the £600, and finally Felix’s departure 
in a taxi for St. Malo. 

His whole statement, thought Clifford, was singularly like 
those of Mrs. Murphy, the Gresham waiter, and the ticket-col¬ 
lector at Brent Station, in that, while it confirmed what Felix 
had said and strengthened the lawyer’s growing belief in the 
artist’s innocence, it was of very little use for the trial. It was 
true that he, Clifford, was now in a position to prove most of 
Felix’s statement, but the worst of it was that most of Felix’s 
statement might be proved without proving Felix’s innocence. 
So much so, indeed, that Clifford could not yet quite banish the 
suspicion that the whole thing was pre-arranged. 

He questioned Mr. Bonchose exhaustively, but without learn¬ 
ing anything fresh. His visitor had not seen the artist on the 
Wednesday or Thursday, and could not help towards the alibi. 
Finding that nothing was to be gained by further conversation, 
Clifford bowed the young man out, having promised to let him 
know how things progressed. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


MR. GEORGES LA TOUCHE 

Some days later Mr. Clifford and Mr. Lucius Heppenstall, K.C.— 
who were close personal friends—dined together at the former’s 
residence, intending afterwards to have a long chat over the case. 
Mr. Heppenstall had returned from Denmark rather earlier than 
was expected, and had already studied the documents received 
from the prosecution, as well as Clifford’s notes of what he had 
learnt. The two men had together interviewed Felix and Bon- 
chose and some other small inquiries had been made, the only 
point of importance discovered being that the late Miss Devine 
had crossed from Calais to Folkestone on the Sunday in question 
and had been alone on deck, both her maids having been helplessly 
ill. The meeting on this evening was to formulate a policy, to 
decide on the exact line which the defence should take. 

The difficulty of this decision was felt by both men to. be con¬ 
siderable. In their previous cases there had nearly always been 
an obvious defence. Frequently two distinct lines, or even three, 
had been possible, the problem then being the selection of the 
best. But here their difficulty was to find any defence at all. 

“The first thing we must settle,” said Heppenstall, throwing 
himself into an easy-chair, “is whether we are going to assume this 
fellow Felix innocent or guilty. What is your own private 
opinion?” 

“I hardly know what to think,” he answered finally. “I must 
admit that Felix’s manner and personality impress me favour¬ 
ably. He certainly told his story in a convincing way. Then 
these people that we have recently seen confirm a great deal of 
what he said. Further, they evidently like and believe in him. 
Look at Martin, for example. He is a noisy, blustering fellow, but 
he is no fool. He knows Felix well, and he believes in him to the 
extent of offering to guarantee our fees to get him off. All that 
must count for something. Then there is nothing inherently im- 

244 


245 


MR. GEORGES LA TOUCHE 

possible in his story. It all might have happened just as he says. 
And lastly, his admitted shock when the cask was opened seems 
strongly in his favour.” 

“But?” 

“But? Well, there is all the rest of the case.” 

“Then you have no private opinion?” 

“Not definitely. My opinion inclines towards innocence, but 
I am by no means sure.” 

“I rather agree with you,” remarked the K.C. Then, after a 
pause, “I have been thinking this thing over and I don’t for the 
life of me see a chance of clearing him on the evidence. It is too 
strong. Why, if it is true, it is overpowering. It seems to me our 
only hope is to deny the evidence.” 

“To deny it?” 

“To deny it. You must admit that Felix is either guilty or 
the victim of a plot.” 

“Of course.” 

“Very well. Let us stick to that. The evidence is not genuine 
because Felix is the victim of a plot. How does that strike you?” 

“Well, you know, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if that was the 
actual fact. I’ve thought over it a good deal, and the more I 
think the more I begin to doubt those things that were found at 
St. Malo. That letter from Emmie, the marks on the blotting 
paper, and the diamond pin, they all strike me as being a little 
too conclusive to be natural. Their very comprehensiveness sug¬ 
gests selection. Then typewritten letters any one can produce. 
No, I shouldn’t wonder if you’re on the right track.” 

“I think it’s our best defence, anyway.” 

“I think it’s our only defence. But, mind you, it’s an easy 
theory to suggest, but a mighty hard one to establish.” 

“There’s only one way,” Heppenstall declared, pouring himself 
out some whisky from the jar at his elbow, “we must suggest the 
real murderer.” 

“If we must find the real murderer we may as well let the case 
alone. If Scotland Yard and the Surete couldn’t get him, we are 
not likely to.” 

“You haven’t quite got me. I don’t say we must find him. It 
will be enough to suggest him. All we have to do is to show that 
some other person had a motive for Madame’s death, and could 


246 


THE CASK 


have murdered her and carried out the plot against Felix. A 
doubt would then arise as to which of the two was guilty, and, if 
that doubt was strong enough, Felix would get the benefit of it.” 

“But that makes our problem no easier. The difficulty still 
lies in the finding of this other person.” 

“We can only try; it may lead to something. Our first ques¬ 
tion then is: If Felix is innocent, who might be guilty?” 

There was silence for several seconds, then Heppenstall spoke 
again. 

“Who, perhaps I should say, is least unlikely to be guilty?” 

“I think there can be only one answer to that,” returned Clif¬ 
ford. “In the Very nature of the case a certain suspicion must 
attach to Boirac. But the police were fully alive to that. From 
all we hear, they went into it thoroughly and came to the conclu¬ 
sion he was innocent.” 

“It depended on an alibi. But you know as well as I do alibis 
can be faked.” 

“Undoubtedly, but they concluded this one wasn’t. We don’t 
know the exact details, but it seems to have been fully tested.” 

“At all events, from the information available, I think we may 
assume that if Felix is innocent, Boirac is guilty. There is no 
suggestion of any third party being involved. If, then, we can 
show that Boirac had a motive for the crime, and that he could 
have committed it and made the plant, that’s all we want. We 
have not to prove him guilty.” 

“I suppose that is so. Then our next point is: What might 
have been Boirac’s motive?” 

“That’s not hard to find. If Boirac found his wife was carry¬ 
ing on with Felix, it might explain his desire to kill her.” 

“Yes, and it would give a two-fold reason for his working for 
Felix’s conviction; first, self-defence by shifting over the suspicion, 
and, second, revenge on the man who had spoilt his home.” 

“Quite. I think a plausible motive might be built up. Next 
let us ask. When was the body put in the cask?” 

“The police say in London, because there was no opportunity 
elsewhere.” 

“Yes, and to me it seems a quite sound deduction. Now, if 
that is true, it follows that if Boirac killed his wife, he must 
have travelled here to do it.” 


MR. GEORGES LA TOUCHE 


247 


^‘But the alibi?” 

‘‘Leave the alibi for a moment. Our defence must be that 
Boirac followed his wife to London and murdered her there. 
Now can we suggest possible details? He would arrive at his 
house on that Sunday morning and find his wife gone, and a letter 
from her saying she had eloped with Felix. What, then, would 
he do?” 

Clifford leaned forward to stir the fire. 

‘T have thought over that,” he said somewhat hesitatingly, “and 
I have worked out a possible theory. It is, of course, pure guess¬ 
work, but it fits a number of the facts.” 

“Let’s hear it. Naturally our theories at present can only be 
guesswork.” 

“I imagined Boirac, then, mad with his discovery on the Sun¬ 
day morning, sitting down and working out a plan for vengeance. 
He perhaps goes on that morning to the Gare du Nord, and 
possibly sees them start. He follows them to London. Or, at 
least, he sees and follows Felix. Madame may have gone by 
another route. By the time he finds they have reached St. Malo 
his plan is worked out. He learns they are alone in the house, 
and he watches till he sees them go out. Then he enters by, say, 
an open window, and, sitting down at Felix’s desk, he forges a 
letter to Dupierre, ordering the companion statue to that he has 
already purchased. He does this in order to obtain a cask in 
which to pack Madame’s body, as he intends to murder her. To 
throw suspicion on Felix, he copies the artist’s handwriting and 
dries it on his blotting paper. For the same reason he signs it 
with Felix’s name. But he does not give Felix’s address, as he 
wants to get the cask himself.” 

“Good!” interjected Heppenstall. 

“He then comes away with' his letter, posts it, telephones to 
Paris to know when and by what route the cask is being sent, and 
arranges a carter to meet it and bring it near, but not to St. Malo, 
instructing the carter to await him. Meantime, in some letter or 
telegram or other trick, he gets Felix out of the way, leaving 
Madame alone in the house. He rings, she opens the door, he 
forces his way in, and, in that little round-backed chair in the 
study, he throttles her. The pin falls out of the neck of the dress 
and lies unnoticed. Then he goes back to the carter and brings 


248 


THE CASK 


the cask into the yard. He sends the carter to the nearest inn for 
his dinner, unpacks and destroys the statue, and packs the body. 
By this time the carter has returned, and Boirac has him remove 
the cask, giving him instructions to send it to Paris next morning. 
To compromise Felix still further he has prepared the Emmie 
note, and he shoves this into the pocket of Felix’s clothes.” 

“Good,” said Heppenstall again. 

“He goes himself to Paris, gets hold of the cask at the Gare du 
Nord and sends it to Felix from the rue Cardinet Goods Station. 
He works out a tricky letter which will have the effect of making 
Felix claim the cask. Felix does so and the police get on his 
track.” 

“By George, Clifford, you haven’t been idle. I shouldn’t won¬ 
der if you are pretty near the thing. But if all that had taken 
place at St. Malo, do you think Felix wouldn’t have said some¬ 
thing about it?” 

“I think he would have. On the other hand, he may have 
wanted to save Madame’s memory, and if so, he obviously couldn’t 
mention it?” 

“What about the charwoman?” 

“Well, that is another difficulty. But I think a clever woman 
could have hidden her traces.” 

“The theory accounts for a great many things, and I think we 
must adopt it as a basis for investigation. Let us now see what 
it involves.” 

“It involves Boirac having been in London on the Sunday night 
or Monday after the dinner party to learn what had taken place 
and to write his letter, and again on the Wednesday to commit 
the murder and arrange about the cask.” 

“Quite. It seems to me, then, our first business is definitely 
to find out where Boirac was on these dates.” 

“He satisfied the police he was in Paris and Belgium.” 

“I know, but we agreed alibis could be faked. We’d better 
have the thing gone into again.” 

“It will mean a detective.” 

“Yes, and what about La Touche?” 

“La Touche is the best man we could have, of course, but he’s 
fairly expensive.” 

Heppenstall shrugged his shoulders. 


MR. GEORGES LA TOUCHE 


249 


‘‘Can’t help that,” he said. “We must have him.” 

“Very well. I’ll ask him to meet us—shall I say at three 
to-morrow?” 

“That will suit me.” 

The two men continued discussing the affair until a clock 
struck twelve, when Heppenstall made a move to return to town. 

Mr. Georges La Touche was commonly regarded as the 
smartest private detective in London. Brought up in that city, 
where his father kept a small foreign book store, he learned till 
he was twelve the English language and ideas. Then, on the 
death of his English mother, the family moved to Paris, and 
Georges had to adjust himself to a new environment. At twenty, 
he entered Cook’s office as a courier, and, learning successively 
Italian, German, and Spanish, he gradually acquired a first-hand 
acquaintanceship with Middle and South-Western Europe. After 
some ten years of this work he grew tired of the constant travel¬ 
ling, and, coming to London, he offered his services to a firm of 
well-known private detectives. Here he did so well that, on the 
death of the founder some fifteen years later, he stepped into his 
place. He soon began to specialise in foreign or international 
cases, for which his early training peculiarly fitted him. 

But he was not much in appearance. Small, sallow, and 
slightly stooped, he would have looked insignificant only for the 
strength of the clear-cut features and the intelligence of the dark, 
flashing eyes. Years of training had enabled him to alter his 
expression and veil these tell-tale signs of power, and he had 
frequently found the weak and insipid impression thus produced, 
an asset in allaying the suspicions of his adversaries. 

His delight in the uncommon and bizarre had caused him to 
read attentively the details of the cask mystery. When, there¬ 
fore, he received Clifford’s telephone asking him to act on be¬ 
half of the suspected man, he eagerly agreed, and cancelled some 
minor engagements in order to meet the lawyers at the time ap¬ 
pointed. 

The important question of fees having been settled, Clifford 
explained to the detective all that was known of the case, as well 
as the ideas he and Heppenstall had evolved with regard to 
the defence. 

“What we want you to do for us, Mr. La Touche,” he wound 


250 


THE CASK 


up, to go into the case on the assumption that Boirac is the 
guilty man. Settle definitely whether this is a possible theory. 
I think you will agree that this depends on the truth of his alibi. 
Therefore, test that first. If it cannot be broken down, Boirac 
cannot be guilty, and our line of defence won’t work. And I 
need hardly say, the sooner you can give us some information the 
better.” 

“You have given me a congenial task, gentlemen, and if I don’t 
succeed it won’t be for want of trying. I suppose that is all 
to-day? I’ll go over these papers and make the case up. Then 
I fancy I had best go to Paris. But I’ll call in to see you, Mr. 
Clifford, before I start.” 

La Touche was as good as his word. In three days he was 
again in Clifford’s room. 

“I’ve been into this case as far as is possible this side of the 
Channel, Mr. Clifford,” he announced. “I was thinking of cross¬ 
ing to Paris to-night.” 

“Good. And what do you think of it all?” 

“Well, sir, it’s rather soon to give an opinion, but I’m afraid 
we’re up against a tough proposition.” 

“In what way?” 

“The case against Felix, sir. It’s pretty strong. Of course, 
I expect we’ll meet it all right, but it’ll take some doing. There’s 
not much in his favour, if you think of it.” 

“What about the shock he got when the cask was opened? 
Have you seen the doctor about it?” 

“Yes. He says the thing was genuine enough, but, sir, I’m 
afraid that won’t carry us so far as you seem to think.” 

“To me it seems very strong. Look at it this way: the 
essence of a shock is surprise; the surprise could only have been 
at the contents of the cask; therefore Felix did not know the 
contents; therefore he could not have put the body in; therefore 
surely he must be innocent?” 

“That sounds all right, sir, I admit. But I’m afraid a clever 
counsel could upset it. You see, there’s more than surprise in a 
shock. There’s horror. And it could be argued that Felix got 
both surprise and horror when the cask was opened.” 

“How, if he knew what was in it?” 

“This way, sir. What was in it was hardly what he was ex- 


MR. GEORGES LA TOUCHE 


251 


pecting. It might be said that he put in the body as he had 
seen the lady alive. But she had been dead for a good many 
days when the cask was opened. She would look a very different 
object. He would be filled with horror when he saw her. That 
horror, together with the fact that he would be all keyed up to 
act surprise in any case, would produce the effect.” 

Clifford had not thought of this somewhat gruesome explana¬ 
tion, and the possibility of its truth made him uncomfortable. 
If the strongest point in Felix’s favour could be met as easily as 
this, it was indeed a black look-out for his client. But he did 
not voice his doubts to his visitor. 

‘Tf you can’t get enough to support the defence we suggest,” 
he said, “we must just try some other line.” 

“I may get what you want all right, sir. I’m only pointing 
out that the thing is not all plain sailing. I’ll cross, then, to-night, 
and I hope I may soon have some good news to send you.” 

“Thank you. I hope so.” 

The two men shook hands, and La Touche took his leave. 
That night he left Charing Cross for Paris. 


CHAPTER XXy 


DISAPPOINTMENT 

La Touche was a good traveller, and usually slept well on a 
night journey. But not always. It sometimes happened that the 
rhythmic rush and roar through the darkness stimulated rather 
than lulled his brain, and on such occasions, lying in the wagon- 
lits of some long-distance express, more than one illuminating 
idea had had its birth. To-night, as he sat in the corner of a 
first-class compartment in the Calais-Paris train, though out¬ 
wardly a lounging and indolent figure, his mind was keenly alert, 
and he therefore took the opportunity to consider the business 
which lay before him. 

His first duty obviously was to re-test Boirac’s alibi. He had 
learnt what the authorities had done in the matter, and he would 
begin his work by checking Lefarge’s investigation. For the 
moment he did not see how to improve on his conjrhreh methods, 
and he could only hope that some clue would present itself dur¬ 
ing his researches, which his predecessor had missed. 

So far he was in no doubt as to his proceedings, for this inquiry 
into Boirac’s alibi had been directly asked for by his employers. 
But, after that, he had been given a free hand to do as he thought 
best. 

He turned to what he considered the central feature of the 
case—the finding of the body in the cask—and began to sepa¬ 
rate in his mind the facts actually known about it from those 
assumed. Firstly, the body was in the cask v/hen the latter 
reached St. Katherine’s Docks. Secondly, it could not have been 
put in during the journey from the rue Cardinet Goods Station. 
So much was certain. But the previous step in the cask’s jour¬ 
ney was surmise. It was assumed that it had been taken from 
the Gare du Nord to the rue Cardinet on a horse-cart. On what 
was this assumption founded? Three facts. First, that it left 
the Gare du Nord on a horse-cart; second, that it reached the 

252 


DISAPPOINTMENT 


253 


rue Cardinet in the same manner; and third, that such a vehicle 
would have occupied about the time the trip had actually taken. 
The assumption seemed reasonable, and yet. . . . He had to re¬ 
member that they were up against a man of no ordinary ability, 
whoever he might be. Might not the cask have been taken by 
the first horse-cart to some adjoining house or shed where the 
body could have been put in, then sent by motor-lorry to some 
other shed near the Goods Station and there transferred to a 
horse-cart again? This undoubtedly seemed far-fetched and un¬ 
likely, nevertheless, the facts were not known, and, he thought, 
they should be. He must find the carter who brought the cask 
to the Goods Station. Then he would be certain where the body 
was put in, and therefore whether the murder was committed in 
Ix)ndon or Paris. 

He noted a third point. The various letters in the case— 
and there were several—might or might not be forgeries, and 
if the former, it was obviously impossible for him to say off-hand 
who had written them. But there was one letter which could 
not be a forgery—at least in a certain sense. The Le Gautier 
letter which Felix said he had received was done on a typewriter 
which could be identified. It was hardly too much to assume 
that the man who typed that letter was the murderer. Find the 
typewriter, thought La Touche, and the chances are it will lead 
to the guilty man. 

A further point struck him. If Boirac were guilty, might he 
not even yet give himself away? The detective recalled case 
after case in his own experience in which a criminal had, after 
the crime, done something or gone somewhere that had led to his 
arrest. Would it be worth while having Boirac shadowed? He 
considered the question carefully and finally decided to bring over 
two of his men for this purpose. 

Here, then, were four directions in which inquiries might be 
made, of which the first three at least promised a certain and 
definite result. As the train slackened speed for the capital, he 
felt his work was cut out for him. 

And then began a period of tedious and unprofitable work. 
He was very efficient, very thorough and very pertinacious, but 
the only result of all his painstaking labours was to establish 
more firmly than ever the truth of Boirac^s statements. 


254 


THE CASK 


He began with the waiter at Charenton. Very skilfully he 
approached the subject, and, painting a moving picture of an 
innocent man falsely accused of murder, he gradually enlisted 
the man’s sympathy. Then he appealed to his cupidity, promis¬ 
ing him a liberal reward for information that would save his 
client, and finally he soothed his fears by promising that in no 
case should any statement he might make get him into trouble. 
The waiter, who seemed a quiet, honest man, was perfectly open, 
and readily replied to all La Touche’s questions, but except on 
one point he stoutly adhered to his previous statement to Lefarge. 
M. Boirac—^whom he identified unhesitatingly from a photo¬ 
graph—^had lunched in the cafe about 1.30, and had then tele¬ 
phoned to two separate places—^he had heard the two numbers 
asked for. As before, he made the reservation that he was not 
certain of the day of the week, his impression having been that 
it was Monday and not Tuesday, but he stated that in this he 
might easily be mistaken. There was no shaking his evidence, and 
La Touche was strongly of the opinion that the man was speaking 
the truth. 

But as well as repeating his statement to Lefarge, the waiter 
added one item of information that seemed important. Asked 
if he could not recall either of the numbers demanded, he now 
said he recollected the last two figures of one of them. They 
were 45. They caught his attention because they were the 
cafe’s own telephone number—Charenton 45. He could not 
recall either the previous figures of the number nor yet the 
division. He had intended to tell this to Lefarge, but being 
somewhat upset by the detective’s call, the point had slipped 
his memory, and it was only when thinking the matter over after¬ 
wards it had occurred to him. 

For La Touche to look up the telephone directory was the work 
of a few seconds. The number of Boirac’s house in the Avenue 
de I’Alma did not suit, but when he looked up the Pump Con¬ 
struction Office he found it was Nord 745. 

Here was fresh confirmation. It was obvious the waiter could 
not have invented his tale, and La Touche left utterly convinced 
that Boirac had indeed lunched at the cafe and sent the messages. 

As he was returning to the city it occurred to him that perhaps 
the waiter’s impression was really correct and that Boirac had 


DISAPPOINTMENT 


255 


been in the cafe on Monday afternoon instead of Tuesday. How 
was this point to be ascertained? 

He recollected how Lefarge had settled it. He had interviewed 
the persons to whom Boirac had spoken, the butler and the head 
clerk, and both were certain of that date. La Touche decided 
he must follow Lefarge’s example. 

Accordingly he called at the house in the Avenue de I’Alma 
and saw Francois. He was surprised to find the old man 
genuinely grieved at the news of Felix’s arrest. Few though the 
occasions had been in which the two had met, something in the 
personality of the former had in this case, as in so many others, 
inspired attachment and respect. La Touche therefore adopted 
the same tactics as with the waiter, and, on his explaining that 
he was acting for the suspected man, he found Frangois anxious 
to give all the help in his power. 

But here again all that La Touche gained was confirmation of 
Boirac’s statement. Frangois recollected the telephone message, 
and he was sure Boirac had spoken. He positively recognised the 
voice and equally positively he remembered the day. It was 
Tuesday. He was able to connect it with a number of other 
small events which definitely fixed it. 

^‘Lefarge was right,” thought the detective, as he strolled up 
the Avenue de I’Alma. ^‘Boirac telephoned from Charenton at 
2.30 on Tuesday. However, I may as well go through with the 
business.” 

He turned his steps therefore towards the head office of the 
Avrotte Pump Construction Company. Repeating Lefarge’s tac¬ 
tics, he watched till he observed Boirac leave. Then he entered 
the office and asked if he could see M. Dufresne. 

am afraid not, monsieur. I believe he has gone out,” an¬ 
swered the clerk who had come over to attend to him. ^‘But if 
you will take a seat for a moment I shall ascertain.” 

La Touche did as he was asked, looking admiringly round the 
large office with its polished teak furniture, its rows of vertical 
file cabinets, its telephones, its clicking t 3 q)ewriters, and its in¬ 
dustrious and efficient-looking clerks. Now La Touche was not 
merely a thinking machine. He had his human side, and, except 
when on a hot scent, he had a remarkably quick eye for a pretty 
girl. Thus it was that as this eye roamed inquisitively over 


256 


THE CASK 


the room, it speedily halted at and became focused on the second 
row of typists, a girl of perhaps two or three-and-twenty. She 
looked, it must be admitted, wholly charming. Small, dark, and 
evidently vivacious; she had a tiny, pouting mouth and an 
adorable dimple. Plainly dressed as became her businesslike 
surroundings, there was, nevertheless, a daintiness and chicness 
about her whole appearance that would have delighted an even 
more critical observer than the detective. She flashed an in¬ 
stantaneous glance at him from her dark, sparkling eyes, and 
then, slightly elevating her pert little nose, became engrossed in 
her work. 

‘T am sorry, monsieur, but M. Dufresne has gone home slightly 
indisposed. He expects to be back in a couple of days, if you 
could conveniently call again.” 

La Touche hardly felt a proper appreciation of the clerk’s 
promptness, but he thanked him politely and said he would re¬ 
turn later. Then, with a final glance at an averted head of dark, 
luxuriant hair, he left the office. 

The chief clerk’s absence was a vexatious delay. But, though 
it would hold up his work on the alibi for a day or two, he might 
begin on one of the other points which had occurred to him 
during the journey to Paris. There was, for example, the trac¬ 
ing of the carter who brought the cask from the Gare du Nord 
to the rue Cardinet. He would see what could be done on that. 

Accordingly he went out to the great Goods Station and, 
introducing himself to the agent in charge, explained his errand. 
The official was exceedingly polite, and, after some delay, the 
two porters whom Burnley and Lefarge had interviewed some 
weeks before were ushered into the room. La Touche ques¬ 
tioned them minutely, but without gaining any fresh information. 
They repeated their statement that they would recognise the 
carter who had brought the cask were they to see him again, 
but were unable to describe him more particularly than before. 

La Touche then went to the Gare du Nord. He he was 
fortunate in finding the clerk who had handed over the cask 
to the black-bearded Jacques de Belleville. But again he was 
disappointed. Neither the clerk nor any of the other officials he 
interviewed recollected the carter who had taken the cask, and 


DISAPPOINTMENT 257 

none tlierefore could say if he was like the man who delivered 
it at the Goods Station. 

Baffled on this point, La Touche turned into a cafe, and, 
ordering a bock, sat down to consider his next step. Apparently 
Lefarge had been right to advertise. He recollected from the 
report he had had from the authorities that all the advertisements 
had appeared in, among other papers, Le Journal. He deter¬ 
mined he would see those advertisements in the hope of dis¬ 
covering why they had failed. 

He accordingly drove to the office of the paper and asked 
leave to look over the files. A slight research convinced him 
that the advertising had been thoroughly and skilfully done. 
He took copies of each fresh announcement—there were nearly 
a dozen. Then, returning to his hotel, he lay down on his bed 
and looked them over again. 

The paragraphs varied in wording, type, and position in the 
columns, but necessarily they were similar in effect. All asked 
for information as to the identity of a carter who, about six 
o’clock on Thursday, the 1st of April, had delivered a cask at 
the rue Cardinet Goods Station. All offered a reward varying 
from 1000 to 5000 francs, and all undertook that the carter 
would not suffer from the information being divulged. 

After a couple of hours hard thinking La Touche came to the 
conclusion that the advertising had been complete. He saw no 
way in which he could improve on what Lefarge had done, nor 
could he think of anything in the announcements themselves 
which might have militated against their success. 

To clear his brain he determined to banish all thoughts of the 
case for the remainder of the day. He therefore went for a stroll 
along the boulevards, and, after a leisurely dinner, turned his 
steps towards the Folies Bergeres, and there passed the evening. 

On his way home it occurred to him that while waiting to 
interview M. Dufresne at the office of the Pump Construction 
Company he might run over to Brussels and satisfy himself as 
to that part of Boirac’s alibi. Accordingly, next morning saw 
him entrained for the Belgian capital, where he arrived about 
midday. He drove to the Hotel Maximilian, lunched, and after¬ 
wards made exhaustive inquiries at the office. Here he saw 
copies of the visitors’ returns which every Belgian hotel must 


258 


THE CASK 


furnish to the police, and satisfied himself absolutely that Boirac 
had been there on the date in question. As a result of Lefarge’s 
inquiries the clerk recollected the circumstances of the pump 
manufacturer’s telephone, and adhered to his previous statement 
in every particular. La Touche took the afternoon train for 
Paris considerably disappointed with the results of his journey. 

On the chance that the chief clerk might be back at work, he 
returned next day to the pump works. Again he watched till 
Boirac had left and again entered and asked for M. Dufresne. 
The same prompt clerk came forward to speak to him, and, say¬ 
ing that M. Dufresne had returned that morning, once more 
asked him to be seated while he took in his card. La Touche 
then suddenly remembered the girl he had so much admired, 
but whose existence he had forgotten since his last visit. He 
glanced across the room. She was there, but he could not see 
her face. Something had evidently gone wrong with the splendid- 
looking machine which she—^La Touche whimsically wondered 
why you did not say ‘‘played” or “drove”—and she was bending 
over it, apparently adjusting some screw. But he had no time 
to pursue his studies of female beauty. The prompt clerk was 
back at his side almost immediately to say that M. Dufresne 
could see him. He accordingly followed his guide to the chief 
clerk’s room. 

M. Dufresne was quite as ready to assist him as had been his 
other informants, but he could tell him nothing the detective 
did not already know. He repeated his statement to Lefarge 
almost word for word. He was sure M. Boirac had telephoned 
about 2.30 on the Tuesday—he unmistakably recognised his 
voice, and he was equally certain of the date. 

La Touche regained the street and walked slowly back to 
his hotel. It was beginning to look very much as if the alibi 
could not be broken, and he was unable for the moment to see 
his next step in the matter. Nor had any information resulted 
from the labours of Mallet and Farol, the two men he had 
brought over to shadow Boirac. Up to the present the latter had 
been most circumspect, not having been anywhere or done any¬ 
thing in the slightest degree suspicious. As La Touche wrote a 
detailed report of his proceedings to Clifford, he felt for the first 
time a distinct doubt as to the outcome of his investigations. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A CLUE AT LAST 

La Touche, having finished his report, put on his hat and sallied 
forth into the rue de la Fayette. He intended after posting his 
letter to cross to the south side and spend the evening with some 
friends. He was not in an agreeable frame of mind. The con¬ 
clusion to which he was apparently being forced would be a dis¬ 
appointment to Clifford, and, if the theory of Boirac’s guilt 
broke down, he saw no better than the solicitor what defence 
remained. 

He sauntered slowly along the pavement, his mind brooding 
almost subconsciously on the case. Then, noticing a letter-box 
on the opposite side of the street, he turned to cross over. But 
as he stepped off the sidewalk an idea flashed into his mind and 
he stopped as if shot. That t3^ewriter the pretty girl in Boirac’s 
office had been using was a new machine. La Touche was an 
observant man, and he had noted the fact, as he habitually noted 
small details about the objects he saw. But not until this 
moment did he realise the tremendously suggestive deduction 
which might be made from the fact. Lefarge, in his search for 
the machine on which the Le Gautier letter had been typed, had 
obtained samples from all the typewriters to which Boirac, so 
far as he could ascertain, had access. But what if that new 
machine replaced an old? What if that old machine had typed 
the Le Gautier letter and had been then got rid of so that 
samples taken by suspicious detective might be supplied from 
some other typewriter? Here was food for thought. If he could 
prove anything of this kind he need have no fear of disappointing 
his employer. He put the report back in his pocket till he could 
adjust himself to this new*point of view. 

And then he had a revulsion of feeling. After all, offices must 
necessarily procure new typewriters, and there was no reason in 
this case to suppose a machine had been purchased otherwise 

259 


THE CASK 


260 

than in the ordinary course of business. And yet—the idea was 
attractive. 

He decided he might as well make some inquiries before for¬ 
warding his report. It would be a simple matter to find out 
when the new machine was purchased, and, if the date was not 
suspicious, the matter could be dropped. 

He considered the best way of ascertaining his information. 
His first idea was to meet the typist and ask her the direct ques¬ 
tion. Then he saw that if her answer supported his theory, not 
only would further inquiries be necessary, but no hint that these 
were being made must reach Boirac. It might therefore be better 
to try diplomacy. 

To La Touche diplomatic dealing was second nature, and he 
was not long in devising a plan. He looked at his watch. It 
was 5.15. If he hurried he might reach the pump works before 
the pretty typist left. 

From the window of the cafe which had so often served in a 
similar capacity, he watched the office staff take their departure. 
For a long time his victim did not appear, and he had almost 
come to the conclusion she must have gone, when he saw her. 
She was with two other girls, and the three, after glancing round 
the street, tripped off daintily citywards. 

When they had gone a fair distance La Touche followed. The 
girls stood for a moment at the Simplon Station of the Metro, 
then the pretty typist vanished down the steps, while the others 
moved on along he pavement. La Touche sprinted to the en¬ 
trance and was in time to see the gray dress of the quarry dis¬ 
appearing down the passage labelled Porte d’Orleans. He got 
his ticket and followed to the platform. There was a fairly 
dense crowd, and, after locating mademoiselle he mingled with it, 
keeping well back out of sight. 

A train soon drew up and the girl got in. La Touche entered 
the next carriage. Standing at the end of his vehicle he could see 
her through the glass between the coaches without, he felt sure, 
being himself visible. One, two, five stations passed, and then 
she got up and moved towards the door ready to alight. La 
Touche did the same, observing from the map in the carriage that 
the next station was not a junction. As the train jerked and 
groaned to a standstill he leaped out and hurried to the street. 




A CLUE AT LAST 


261 


Crossing rapidly, he stopped at a kiosk and asked for an evening 
paper. Bending over the counter of the stall, he saw her emerge 
up the steps and start off down the street. He remained on the 
opposite side, cautiously following until, after about two blocks, 
she entered a small, unpretentious restaurant. 

‘Tf she is going to dine alone,” thought La Touche, ‘T am in 
luck.” 

He waited till she would have probably reached her second or 
third course and then entered the building. 

The room was narrow, corresponding to the frontage, but 
stretched a long way back, the far end being lighted with electric 
lamps. A row of marble-topped tables stretched down each side, 
with six cane chairs at each. Mirrors framed in dingy white and 
gold lined the walls. At the extreme back was a tiny stage on 
which an orchestra of three girls was performing. 

The place was about half full. As La Touche’s quick eye took 
in the scene, he noticed the typist seated alone at a table three 
or four from the stage. He walked forward. 

‘Tf mademoiselle permits?” he murmured, bowing, but hardly 
looking at her, as he pulled out a chair nearly opposite her and sat 
down. 

He gave his order and then, business being as it were off his 
mind, he relaxed so far as to look around. He glanced at the 
girl, seemed suddenly to recognise her, gave a mild start of sur¬ 
prise and leant forward with another bow. 

“Mademoiselle will perhaps pardon if I presume,” he said, in 
his best manner, “but I think we have met before or, if not quite, 
almost.” 

The girl raised her eyebrows but did not speak. 

“In the office of M. Boirac,” went on the detective. “You 
would not, of course, notice, but I saw you there busy with a fine 
typewriter.” 

Mademoiselle was not encouraging. She shrugged her shoul¬ 
ders, but made no reply. La Touche had another shot. 

“I am perhaps impertinent in addressing mademoiselle, but I 
assure her no impertinence is meant. I am the inventor of a new 
device for typewriters, and I try to get opinion of every expert 
operator I can find on its utility. Perhaps mademoiselle would 
permit me to describe it and ask hers?” 


262 THE CASK 

‘Why don’t you take it to some of the agents?” She spoke 
frigidly. 

“Because, mademoiselle,” answered La Touche, warming to his 
subject, “I am not quite certain if the device would be sufficiently 
valuable. It would be costly to attach and no firm would buy 
unless it could be shown that operators wanted it. That is what 
I am so anxious to learn. 

She was listening, though not very graciously. La Touche did 
not wait for a reply, but began sketching on the back of the 
menu. 

“Here,” he said, “is my idea,” and he proceeded to draw and 
describe the latest form of tabulator with which he was 
acquainted. The girl look at him with scorn and suspicion. 

“You’re describing the Remington tabulator,” she said coldly. 

“Oh, but, pardon me, mademoiselle. You surely don’t mean 
that? I have been told this is quite new.” 

“You have been told wrongly. I ought to know, for I have 
been using one the very same, as what you say is yours, for 
several weeks.” 

“You don’t say so, mademoiselle? That means that I have 
been forestalled and all my work has been wasted.” 

La Touche’s disappointment was so obvious that the girl 
thawed slightly. 

“You’d better call at the Remington depot and ask to see one 
of their new machines. Then you can compare their tabulator 
with yours.” 

“Thank you, mademoiselle. I’ll do so to-morrow. Then you 
use a Remington?” 

“Yes, a No. 10.” 

“Is that an old machine? Pardon my questions, but have you 
had it long?” 

“I can’t tell you how long it has been at the office. I am only 
there myself six or seven weeks.” 

Six or seven weeks! And the murder took place just over six 
weeks before! Could there be a connection, or was this mere 
coincidence?” 

“It must be a satisfaction to a man of business,” La Touche 
went on conversationally, as he helped himself to wine, “when his 
business grows to the extent of requiring an additional typist. I 


A CLUE AT LAST 263 

envy M. Boirac his feelings when he inserted his advertisement 
nearly as much as I envy him when you applied.” 

“You have wasted your envy then,” returned the girl in chilly 
and contemptuous tones, “for you are wrong on both points. M. 
Boirac’s business has not extended, for I replaced a girl who had 
just left, and no advertisement was inserted as I went to M. 
Boirac from the Michelin School in the rue Scribe.” 

La Touche had got his information; at least, all he had expected 
from this girl. He continued the somewhat one-sided conversa¬ 
tion for some minutes, and then with a courteous bow left the 
restaurant. He reached his hotel determined to follow the 
matter up. 

Accordingly, next morning saw him repeating his tactics of the 
previous evening. Taking up his position in the restaurant near 
the Pump Works shortly before midday, he watched the staff go 
for dejeuner. First came M. Boirac, then M. Dufresne, and then 
a crowd of lesser lights—clerks and typists. He saw his friend of 
the night before with the same two companions, closely followed 
by the prompt clerk. At last the stream ceased, and in about 
ten minutes the detective crossed the road and once more entered 
the office. It was empty except for a junior clerk. 

“Good-morning,” said La Touche affably. “I called to ask 
whether you would be so good as to do me a favour. I want a 
piece of information for which, as it may give you some trouble 
to procure, I will pay twenty francs. Will you help me?” 

“What is the information, monsieur?” asked the boy—^he was 
little more than a boy. 

“I am manager of a paper works and I am looking for a typist 
for my office. I am told that a young lady typist left here about 
six weeks ago?” 

“That is true, monsieur; Mile. Lambert.” 

“Yes, that is the lady’s name,” returned La Touche, making a 
mental note of it. 

“Now,” he continued confidentially, “can you tell me why she 
left?” 

“I think she was dismissed, monsieur, but I never really under¬ 
stood why.” 

“Dismissed?” 

“Yes, monsieur. She had some row with M. Boirac, our man- 


264 THE CASK 

aging director. I don’t know—none of us know—^what it was 
about.” 

“I had heard she was dismissed, and that is why I was in¬ 
terested in her. Unfortunately my business is not for the moment 
as flourishing as I should wish. It occurred to me that if I could 
find a typist who had some blot on her record, she might be will¬ 
ing to come to me for a smaller salary than she would otherwise 
expect. It would benefit her as well as me, as it would enable her 
to regain her position.” 

The clerk bowed without comment, and La Touche 
continued:— 

“The information I want is this. Can you put me in touch 
with this young lady? Do you know her address?” 

The other shook his head. 

“I fear not, monsieur. I don’t know where she lives.” 

La Touche affected to consider. 

“Now, how am I to get hold of her?” he said. The clerk 
making no suggestion, he went on after a pause:— 

“I think if you could tell me just when she left it might help 
me. Could you do that?” 

“About six weeks ago. I can tell you the exact day by looking 
up the old wages sheets if you don’t mind waiting. Will you take 
a seat?” 

La Touche thanked him and sat down, trusting the search 
would be concluded before any of the other clerks returned. But 
he was not delayed long. In three or four minutes the boy 
returned. 

“She left on Monday, the 5th of April, monsieur.” 

“And was she long with you?” 

“About two years, monsieur.” 

“I am greatly obliged. And her Christian name was?” 

“filoise, monsieur, filoise Lambert.” 

“A thousand thanks. And now I have just to beg of you not 
to mention my visit, as it would injure me if it got out that my 
business was not too flourishing. Here is my debt to you.” He 
handed over the twenty francs, 

“It is too much, monsieur. I am glad to oblige you without 
payment.” 


A CLUE AT LAST 265 

“A bargain is a bargain,’^ insisted the detective, and, followed 
by the profuse thanks of the young clerk, he left the office. 

“This grows interesting,” thought La Touche, as he once more 
emerged into the street. “Boirac dismisses a typist on the very 
day the cask reaches St. Katherine’s Docks. Now, I wonder if 
the new typewriter made its appearance at the same time. I must 
get hold of that girl Lambert.” 

But how was this to be done? No doubt there would be a 
record of her address somewhere in the office, but he was anxious 
that no idea of his suspicions should leak out, and he preferred to 
leave that source untapped. What, then, was left to him? He 
could see nothing for it but an advertisement. 

Accordingly, he turned into a cafe and, calling for a bock, 
drafted out the following:— 

“If Mile. Eloise Lambert, stenographer and typist, will apply 
to M. Georges La Touche, Hotel Suisse, rue de La Fayette, she 
will hear something to her advantage.” 

He read over the words and then a thought struck him, and he 
took another sheet of paper and wrote:— 

“If Mile. Eloise Lambert, stenographer and typist, will apply to 
M. Guillaume Faneuil, Hotel St. Antoine, she will hear something 
to her advantage.” 

“If Boirac should see the thing, there’s no use in my shoving 
into the limelight,” he said to himself. “I’ll drop Georges La 
Touche for a day or two and try the St. Antoine.” 

He sent his advertisement to several papers, then, going to the 
Hotel St. Antoine, engaged a room in the name of M. Guillaume 
Faneuil. 

“I shall not require it till to-morrow,” he said to the clerk, and 
next day he moved in. 

During the morning there was a knock at the door of his private 
sitting-room, and a tall, graceful girl of about five-and-twenty 
entered. She was not exactly pretty, but exceedingly pleasant 
and good-humoured looking. Her tasteful, though quiet, dress 
showed she was not in need as a result of losing her situation. 

La Touche rose and bowed. 

“Mile. Lambert?” he said with a smile. “I am M. Faneuil. 
Won’t you sit down?” 


266 


THE CASK 


‘T saw your advertisement in Le Soir, monsieur, and—^here 
I am.’’ 

‘T am much indebted to you for coming so promptly, made¬ 
moiselle,” said La Touche, reseating himself, “and I shall not 
trespass long on your time. But before explaining the matter 
may I ask if you are the Mile. Lambert who recently acted as 
typist at the Avrotte Works?” 

“Yes, monsieur. I was there for nearly two years.” 

“Forgive me, but can you give any proof of that? A mere 
matter of form, of course, but in justice to my employers I am 
bound to ask the question.” 

An expression of surprise passed over the girl’s face. 

“I really don’t know that I can,” she answered. “You see, I 
was not expecting to be asked such a question.” 

It had occurred to La Touche that in spite of his precautions 
Boirac might have somehow discovered what he was engaged on, 
and sent this girl with a made up story. But her answer satisfied 
him. If she had been an impostor she would have come provided 
with proofs of her identity. 

“Ah, well,” he rejoined with a smile, “I think I may safely take 
the risk. May I ask you another question? Was a new type¬ 
writer purchased while you were at the office?” 

The surprise on the pleasant face deepened. 

“Why, yes, monsieur, a No. 10 Remington.” 

“And can you tell me just when?” 

“Easily. I left the office on Monday, Sth April, and the new 
machine was sent three days earlier—on Friday, the 2nd.” 

Here was news indeed! La Touche was now in no doubt 
about following up the matter. He must get all the information 
possible out of this girl. And the need for secrecy would make 
him stick to diplomacy. 

He smiled and bowed. 

“You will forgive me, mademoiselle, but I had to satisfy my¬ 
self you were the lady I wished to meet. I asked you these 
questions only to ensure that you knew the answers. And now 
I shall tell you who I am and what is the business at issue. But 
first, may I ask you to keep all I may tell you secret?” 

His visitor looked more and more mystified as she replied:— 

“I promise, monsieur.” 


A CLUE AT LAST 


267 


“Then I may say that I am a private detective, employed on 
behalf of the typewriter company to investigate some very 
extraordinary—I can only call them frauds, which have recently 
been taking place. In some way, which up to the present we 
have been unable to fathom, several of our machines have devel¬ 
oped faults which, you understand, do not prevent them working, 
but which prevent them being quite satisfactory. The altering 
of tensions and the slight twisting of type to put them out of 
alignment are the kind of things I mean. We hardly like to 
suspect rival firms of practising these frauds to get our machines 
into disfavour, and yet it is hard to account for it otherwise. 
Now, we think that you can possibly give us some information, 
and I am authorised by my company to hand you one hundred 
francs if you will be kind enough to do so.’’ 

The surprise had not left the girl’s face as she answered:— 

“I should have been very pleased, monsieur, to tell you all I 
knew without any payment, had I known anything to tell. But 
I am afraid I don’t.” 

“I think, mademoiselle, you can help us if you will. May 
I ask you a few questions?” 

“Certainly.” 

“The first is, can you describe the machine you used prior 
to the purchase of the new one?” 

“Yes, it was a No. 7 Remington.” 

“I did not mean that,” answered La. Touche, eagerly noting 
this information, “I knew that, of course, as it is this No. 7 ma¬ 
chine I am inquiring about. What I meant to ask was, had it 
any special marks or peculiarities by which it could be dis¬ 
tinguished from other No. 7’s?” 

“Why, no, I don’t think so,” the girl answered thoughtfully. 
“And yet there were. The letter S on the S-key had got twisted 
round to the right and there were three scratches here”—she 
indicated the side plate of an imaginary typewriter. 

“You would then be able to* identify the. machine if you 
saw it again?” 

“Yes, I certainly should.” 

“Now, mademoiselle, had it any other peculiarities—defective 
letters or alignment or anything of that kind?” 

“No, nothing really bad. It was old and out of date, but quite 


268 THE CASK 

good enough. M. Boirac, of course, thought otherwise, but I 
maintain my opinion.” 

^‘What did M. Boirac say exactly?” 

“He blamed me for it. But there wasn’t anything wrong, and 
if there had been it wasn’t my fault.” 

“I am sure of that, mademoiselle. But perhaps you would 
tell me about it from the beginning?” 

“There’s not much to tell. I had a big job to do—typing a 
long specification of a pumping plant for the Argentine, and 
when I had finished I left it as usual on M. Boirac’s desk. A 
few minutes later he sent for me and asked how I came to put 
such an untidy document before him. I didn’t see anything 
wrong with it and I asked him what he complained of. He 
pointed out some very small defects—^principally uneven align¬ 
ment, and one or two letters just a trifle blurred. You really 
would hardly have seen it. I said that wasn’t my fault, and that 
the machine wanted adjustment. He said I had been striking 
while the shift key was partly moved, but, M. Faneuil, I had 
been doing nothing of the kind. I told M. Boirac so, and he then 
apologised and said I must have a new machine. He telephoned 
there and then to the Remington people, and a No. 10 came 
that afternoon.” 

“And what happened to the old No. 7?” 

“The man that brought the new one took the old away.” 

“And was that all that was said?” 

“That was all, monsieur.” 

“But, pardon me, I understood you left owing to some mis¬ 
understanding with M. Boirac?” 

The girl shook her head. 

“Oh, no,” she said, “nothing of the sort. M. Boirac told me 
the following Monday, that is, two days after the typewriter 
business, that he was reorganising his office and would do with 
a typist less. As I was the last arrival, I had to go. He said 
he wished to carry out the alterations immediately so that I 
might leave at once. He gave me a month’s salary instead of 
notice, and a good testimonial which I have here. We parted 
quite friends.” 

The document read:— 


A CLUE AT LAST 


269 


“I have pleasure in certifying that Mile. Eloise Lambert was 
engaged as a stenographer and typist in the head office of this 
company from August, 1910, till Sth April, 1912, during which 
time she gave every satisfaction to me and my chief clerk. She 
proved herself diligent and painstaking, thoroughly competent 
in her work, and of excellent manners and conduct. She leaves 
the firm through no fault of her own, but because we are reduc¬ 
ing staff. I regret her loss and have every confidence in recom¬ 
mending her to those needing her services. 

(Signed) Raoul Boirac, Managing Director 

“An excellent testimonial, mademoiselle,” La Touche com¬ 
mented. “Pray excuse me for just a moment.” 

He stepped into the adjoining bedroom and closed the door. 
Thep taking a sample of Boirac’s writing from his pocket book, 
he compared the signature with that of the testimonial. After 
a careful scrutiny he was satisfied the latter was genuine. He 
returned to the girl and handed her the document. 

“Thank you, mademoiselle. Now, can you recall one other 
point? Did you, within the last three or four weeks, type a 
letter about some rather unusual matters—about some one 
winning a lot of money in the State Lottery and about sending 
this packed in a cask to England?” 

“Never, monsieur,” asserted the typist, evidently completely 
puzzled by the questions she was being asked. La Touche 
watched her keenly and was satisfied she had no suspicion that 
his business was other than he had said. But he was nothing 
if not thorough, and his thoroughness drove him to make pro¬ 
vision for suspicions which might arise later. He therefore 
went on to question her about the No. 7 machine, asking whether 
she had ever noticed it had been tampered with, and finally saying 
that he believed there must have been a mistake and that the 
machine they had discussed was not that in which he was inter¬ 
ested. Then, after obtaining her address, he handed her the 
hundred francs, which, after a protest, she finally accepted. 

“Now, not a word to any one, if you please, mademoiselle,” 
he concluded, as they parted. 

His discoveries, to say the least of it, were becoming inter¬ 
esting. If Mile. Lambert’s story was true—and he was strongly 


THE CASK 


270 

disposed to believe her—M. Boirac had acted in a way that re¬ 
quired some explanation. His finding fault with the typist did 
not seem genuine. In fact, to La Touche it looked as if the 
whole episode had been arranged to provide an excuse for get¬ 
ting rid of the typewriter. Again, the manufacturer's dismissal 
of his typist at a day's notice was not explained by his state¬ 
ment that he was about to reorganise his office. Had that 
been true he would have allowed her to work her month's notice, 
and, even more obviously, he would not have immediately en¬ 
gaged her successor. As La Touche paid his bill at the hotel 
he decided that though there might be nothing in his suspicions, 
the matter was well worth further investigation. He therefore 
called a taxi and was driven to the Remington typewriter depot. 

want," he said to the salesman who came forward, “to buy 
a second-hand machine. Can you let me see some?" 

“Certainly, monsieur. Will you step this way?" 

They went to a room at the back of the building where were 
stored a vast assemblage of typewriters of all sizes and in all 
states of repair. La Touche, inquiring as to prices and models, 
moved slowly about, running his quick eye over the machines, 
looking always for one with a twisted S-key. But, search as he 
would, he could not find what he wanted. Nor could he find any 
No. 7's. These machines were all more modern. 

He turned at last to the shopman. 

“These are all rather expensive for me. I should explain that 
I am the principal of a commercial school, and I merely want a 
machine on which beginners could learn the keys. Any old thing 
would do, if I could get it cheap. Have you any older machines?" 

“Certainly, monsieur, we have several quite good No. 7's and 
a few No. 5's. Come this way, please." 

They went to a room devoted to more antiquated specimens. 
Here La Touche continued his investigations, searching always 
for the twisted S. 

At last he saw it. Not only was the letter turned to the right, 
but on the side plate were the three scratches mentioned by Mile. 
Lambert. 

“I think that one would suit," he said. “Could you get it 
down and let me have a look at it?" 

He went through the pretence of examining it with care. 


A CLUE AT LAST 271 

he said, ‘‘this will do if it works all right. I should 
like to try it.’^ 

He put in a sheet of paper and typed a few words. Then, 
drawing out his work, he examined the letters and alignment. 

As he looked at it even his long experience scarcely prevented 
him giving a cry of triumph. For, to the best of his belief, this 
was the machine on which the Le Gautier letter had been typed! 

He turned again to the shopman. 

“That seems all right,” he said. “I’ll take the machine, please.” 

He paid for it and obtained a receipt. Then he asked to see 
the manager. 

“I’m going to ask you, monsieur,” he said, when he had drawn 
that gentleman aside, “to do me a rather unusual favour. I have 
just bought this machine, and I want you to see it before I take 
it away, and, if you will be so kind, to give me some information 
about it. I shall tell you in confidence why I ask. I am a de¬ 
tective, employed on behalf of a man charged with a serious crime, 
but who I believe is innocent. A certain letter, on the authorship 
of which his guilt largely depends, was written, if I am not mis¬ 
taken, on this machine. You will forgive me if I do not go into 
all the particulars. An adequate identification of the typewriter 
is obviously essential. I would therefore ask you if you would be 
kind enough to put a private mark on it. Also, if you would tell 
me how it came into your possession, I should be more than 
obliged.” 

“I shall do what you ask with pleasure, monsieur,” returned 
the manager, “but I trust I shall not be required to give evidence.” 

“I do not think so, monsieur. I feel sure the identity of the 
machine will not be questioned. I make my request simply as a 
matter of precaution.” 

The manager, with a small centre punch, put a few ‘spots’ on 
the main frame, noting the machine’s number at the same time. 

“Now you want to know where we got it,” he went on to La 
Touche. “Excuse me a moment.” 

He disappeared to his office, returning in a few minutes with 
a slip of paper in his hand. 

“The machine was received from the Avrotte Pump Construc¬ 
tion office”—he referred to the paper—“on 2nd April last. It 
was supplied to the firm several years earlier, and on the date 


in THE CASK 

mentioned they exchanged it for a more up-to-date machine, 
a No. 10.^^ 

'‘I am extremely obliged, monsieur. You may trust me to keep 
you out of the business if at all possible.’’ 

Calling a taxi. La Touche took the machine to his hotel in the 
rue de La Fayette. There he typed another sample, and, using a 
powerful lens, compared the letters with the photographic enlarge¬ 
ments he had obtained of the Le Gautier type. He was satisfied. 
The machine before him was that for which he had been in search. 

He was delighted at his success. The more he thought of it, 
the more certain he felt that Boirac’s fault-finding was merely an 
excuse to get rid of the typewriter. And the manufacturer had 
dismissed Mile. Lambert simply because she knew too much. If 
inquiries were made in the office, he would be safer with her out 
of the way. 

And as to Boirac’s deeper object. So far as the detective could 
see, there could be only one explanation. Boirac knew the Le 
Gautier letter was done on that machine. And if he knew, did it 
not follow that he had sent the letter to Felix? And if he had 
sent the letter, must he not be guilty? To La Touche it began 
to look like it. 

Then a further point struck him. If Boirac were guilty, what 
about the alibi? The alibi seemed so conclusive. And yet, if he 
were innocent, what about the typewriter? There seemed to be 
no escape from the dilemma, and La Touche was horribly puzzled. 

But as he thought over the matter he began to see that the 
discovery of the typewriter did not so greatly help his client after 
all. Though at first sight it had seemed to indicate Boirac’s guilt, 
second thoughts showed him that the manufacturer could make a 
very good case for himself. He could stick to the story told by 
Mile. Lambert—that the type was in point of fact not good 
enough for his work. He could say plausibly enough that for 
some time he had wanted a machine with a tabulator, and that 
the bad alignment had only brought the matter to a head. Then, 
with regard to the typist. Though the girl seemed quiet and 
truthful, goodness only knew what she might not be holding back. 
On her own showing she had had exchanges of opinion with her 
employer, and she might have been very impertinent. At all 
events, Boirac could give his own version of what took place and 


A CLUE AT LAST 


273 


no one would know the truth. Further, he could account for his 
testimonial by saying that while he disliked the girl and wished 
to be rid of her, he did not want to injure her permanently. He 
might even admit falsely telling the girl he was going to reorganise 
his office in order to smooth over her leaving. 

With regard to the Le Gautier letter, Boirac could simply deny 
knowledge, and La Touche did not see how he could be contra¬ 
dicted. It could even be argued that Felix might have bribed a 
clerk to copy the letter for him on that machine so as to throw 
suspicion on Boirac. If Felix were guilty, it would be a likely 
enough move. 

At last La Touche came to the definite conclusion that he had 
not enough evidence either to convict Boirac or clear Felix. He 
must do better. He must break the alibi and find the carter. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


LA touche’s dilemma 

That night La Touche could not sleep. The atmosphere was 
sultry and tense. Great masses of blue-black clouds climbing the 
south-western sky seemed to promise a storm. The detective 
tossed from side to side, his body restless, his mind intently awake 
and active. And then an idea suddenly occurred to him. 

He had been mentally reviewing the wording of the various 
advertisements Lefarge had inserted for the carter. These, he 
recollected, were all to the effect that a reward would be paid for 
information as to the identity of the carter who had delivered the 
cask at the rue Cardinet goods station. Who, he thought, in the 
nature of things could answer that? Only, so far as he could see, 
two people—the carter himself and the man who engaged him. 
No one else would know anything about the matter. Of these, 
obviously the latter was not going to give the affair away. Nor 
would the carter if the other paid him well or had some hold over 
him. This, thought La Touche, may be why these advertisements 
have all failed. 

So far he had got when his illuminating idea struck him. The 
fault of these advertisements was that they had appealed to the 
wrong people. Instead of appealing to the carter, could his asso¬ 
ciates not be approached? Or rather his employer, for it was 
obvious that neither Boirac nor Felix could be his employer, 
except in the case of this one job. He jumped out of bed, turned 
on the light, and began to draft a circular letter. 

“Dear Sir,” he wrote, “An innocent man is in danger of con¬ 
viction on a murder charge for want of certain evidence. This 
could be supplied by a carter—a clean-shaven, sharp-featured man 
with white hair. If you have (or had last March) such a man in 
your employment, or know of such, I most earnestly beg you to 
advise me. I am a private detective, working on behalf of the 
accused man. I guarantee no harm to the carter. On the con- 

274 


LA TOUCHE’S DILEMMA 


275 


trary, I am willing to pay all men who answer the description five 
francs if they will call on me here any evening between 8.0 and 
10.0, as well as 500 francs to the man who can give me the 
information I require.” 

Repeating the manoeuvre he had employed in the case of the 
advertisement for Mile. Lambert, La Touche did not add his own 
name and address. He signed the note Charles Epee, and headed 
it Hotel d’Arles, rue de Lyon. 

Next morning he took his draft to a manufactory of office sup¬ 
plies and arranged for copies to be made and posted to the man¬ 
agers of all the carting establishments in Paris, the envelopes 
being marked ‘‘confidential.” The he went on to the rue de Lyon, 
and, in the name of Charles Epee, engaged a room at the Hotel 
d’Arles. 

Taking the Metro at the Place de la Bastille, he returned to 
the goods station in the rue Cardinet. There, after a considerable 
delay, he found his two friends, the porters who had unloaded the 
cask on that Thursday nearly two months before. Explaining 
that he expected the carter he was in search of to call at his hotel 
on some evening in the early future, he offered them five francs 
a day to sit in his room between 8.0 and 10.0 p. m. to identify the 
man, should he arrive. To this the porters willingly agreed. 
That evening they had their first meeting, but without success. 
No clean-shaven, white-haired, sharp-featured carters turned up. 

When La Touche returned to his rue de La Fayette hotel he 
found a letter from Clifford. The pdlice had made two dis¬ 
coveries. The first La Touche had realised they were bound to 
make sooner or later. They had learnt of Felix’s identity with the 
art school student who had been in love with the late Mme. 
Boirac, and of the short-lived engagement between the two. All 
the assistance which these facts gave the prosecution was there¬ 
fore now at the disposal of the authorities. 

The second piece of informantion was that Inspector Burnley 
had found the carter who had taken the cask from Waterloo on 
the Wednesday morning of the fateful week and delivered it at 
Charing Cross next morning, for, it seemed, both these jobs had 
been done by the same man. 

It appeared that about 7.30 on the Tuesday evening of that 
week a dark, foreign-looking man with a pointed black beard had 


276 


THE CASK 


called at the office of Messrs. Johnson, the large carting agents 
in Waterloo Road, and had hired a dray and man for the two 
following days, as well as the use of an empty shed for the same 
period. He had instructed the carter to meet him at Waterloo 
Station at 10.0 next morning, Wednesday. There, on the arrival 
of the Southampton boat train, he had claimed the cask and had 
it loaded up on the dray, as was already known. The vehicle had 
been taken to the shed, where it had been left, the horse having 
been sent back to the stable. The black-bearded man had told 
the driver he might take the remainder of the day as a holiday, 
but that he wanted him to return on the following morning, 
Thursday, take the cask to Charing Cross, and there book it to 
Paris. He had handed him the amount of the freight as well as 
ten shillings for himself. Upon the man asking where in Paris 
the cask was to be sent, the other had told him he would leave it 
properly addressed. This he had done, for next morning the cask 
had a new label, bearing the name of Jaques de Belleville, Cloak¬ 
room, Gare du Nord. The carter had then left the black-bearded 
man in the shed with the cart and cask. Next morning he had 
booked the latter to Paris. 

Asked if he could identify the black-bearded man, the carter 
said he believed be could. But he failed to do so. On being 
taken to see Felix, he stated the artist was like the dark foreigner, 
but he would not swear he was the same man. 

This news interested La Touche greatly, and he sat smoking 
into the small hours seeing how far he could work these new facts 
into the theories of the crime which he and Clifford had discussed. 
If the prosecution were correct, Felix must have been the man who 
called at the cartage establishment at 7.30 on Tuesday evening. 
He would therefore have had undisputed possession of the cask 
from about 11.0 a. m. on the Wednesday until, say 7.0 on the 
following morning, and there were two obvious ways in which he 
could have put in the body. Either he could have procured 
another horse and taken the cask to St. Malo, where, in the 
privacy of the walled yard, he could have removed the statue and 
substituted the body, returning the cask to the shed by the same 
means, or he could have hidden the body in his two-seater and 
run it to the shed, making the exchange there. Unfortunately, 


LA TOUCHE’S DILEMMA 277 

La Touche saw, the facts he had just learnt would fit in only too 
well with the theory of Felix’s guilt. 

On the other hand they supplied another period for which an 
alibi might be found for the artist—7.30 on the Tuesday night. 
But, remembering his own and Clifford’s researches into the man¬ 
ner in which Felix spent that week. La Touche was not hopeful 
of help here. 

The detective then turned his thoughts to Clifford’s theory of 
Boirac’s guilt. And immediately he saw how the news crystallised 
the issue of the alibi. Up to the present the alibi had been 
considered as a whole, the portions which had been tested and 
those which had not, alike included. Generally speaking, it had 
been argued that if Boirac were in Paris and in Belgium during 
the fateful days, he could not have been in London. But now 
here was a direct issue between definite hours. At 7.30 on the 
Tuesday evening the bearded man was at Johnson’s in the Water¬ 
loo Road. At 2.30 that same day Boirac was at Charenton. La 
Touche looked up his Continental Bradshaw. A train arrived at 
Victoria at 7.10, which would just enable a traveller from Paris 
to reach the carting contractor’s at the hour named. But that 
train left Paris at 12.0 noon. Therefore it was utterly and abso¬ 
lutely out of the question that Boirac could be the man. But 
then there was the typewriter. . . . 

La Touche was back on the horns of the old dilemma. If 
Boirac was guilty, how did he work the alibi? if innocent, why did 
he get rid of the typewriter? He almost writhed in his exaspera¬ 
tion. But it only made him more determined than ever to reach 
a solution, cost him what it might of labour and trouble. 

The next evening he set off to the Hotel d’Arles in the rue de 
Lyon, to await with the goods yard porters the coming of sharp- 
featured carters with white hair. 

A number of replies to his circular had come in. Some were 
merely negative, the recipients having written to say that no carter 
answering to the description was known to them. Others stated 
they knew men of the type required, mentioning names and ad¬ 
dresses. La Touche made lists of these, determining to call on 
any who did not come to see him at the hotel. 

While he was engaged in this work his first visitor was an¬ 
nounced. This man was clean-shaven and white-haired, but the 


278 


THE CASK 


sharpness of his features was not much in evidence. The porters 
immediately gave the prearranged sign that this was not the man, 
and La Touche, handing him his five francs, bowed him out, at 
the same time noting him ‘‘Seen’’ on his list. 

After he left came another and another, till before ten o’clock 
they had interviewed no less than fourteen men. All these more 
or less completely answered the description, but all the porters 
instantly negatived. The following evening eleven men called 
and the next four, with the same result. 

On the third day there was another letter from Clifford. The 
lawyer wrote that he had been greatly struck by the intelligence 
of the carter who had carried about the cask in London. Sur¬ 
prised at so superior a man holding such a position, he had 
brought him to his house in the hope of learning his history. And 
there he had made a discovery of the highest importance, and 
which, he thought, would lead them direct to the end of their 
quest. The carter, John Hill, had been quite ready to tell his 
story, which was as follows: Until four years previously Hill had 
been a constable in the Metropolitan police. He had a good record, 
and, he had believed, a future. Then he had had an unfortunate 
difference with his superior officer. Hill did not give the particu¬ 
lars, but Clifford understood it was a private matter and con¬ 
cerned a girl. But it led to a row during hours of duty, in which 
Hill admitted having entirely forgotten himself. He had been 
dismissed, and, after a long and weary search, could find no 
better job than he now held. 

“But,” wrote Clifford, “it’s an ill wind, etc. This curious his¬ 
tory of Hill’s is the thing that will settle our case. He has been 
trained in observation, and he observed something about the man 
with the cask that will definitely settle his identity. When he was 
paying him he noticed on the back of the first joint of his right 
forefinger, a small scar as if from a burn. He says he is sure of 
this mark and could swear to it. I asked him had he told the 
police. He said not, that he didn’t love the police, and that he 
had answered what he had been asked and nothing more. When 
he understood I was acting against the police he volunteered the 
information, and I could see that he would be glad to give 
evidence that would upset their conclusions.” 

Clifford had then done the obvious thing. He had gone to 


LA TOUCHE’S DILEMMA 


279 


inspect Felix’s finger, and he had found there was no mark on it. 

At first to La Touche this seemed the end of the case. This 
man’s evidence definitely proved Felix innocent. His next busi¬ 
ness would be to examine Boirac’s hand, and, if the mark was 
there, the matter was at an end. 

But as he thought over it he saw that this was indeed far from 
being the fact. There was still the alibi. As long as that stood, 
a clever counsel would insist on Boirac’s innocence. To a jury 
the thing would be conclusive. And this ex-policeman’s evidence 
could be discredited. In fact, the very thing that had enabled 
them to get hold of it—the man’s dislike of the official force— 
would minimise its value. It would be argued that Hill had in¬ 
vented the scar to upset the police case. By itself, a jury might 
not accept this suggestion, but the alibi would give it weight, in 
fact, would make it the only acceptable theory. 

However, the next step was clear. La Touche must see Boirac’s 
hand, and, if there was a scar. Hill must see it, too. 

About eleven o’clock therefore, the detective hailed a taxi with 
an intelligent looking driver. Having reached the end of the rue 
Championnet he dismounted, explaining to the man what he 
wanted him to do. A few moments later found him once more 
seated in the window of the cafe, his eyes fixed on the Pump Con¬ 
struction office across the street. The taxi in accordance with 
orders, drove slowly about, ready to pick him up if required. 

About quarter to twelve, Boirac came out and began walking 
slowly cit 3 nvards. La Touche quietly followed, keeping at the 
other side of the street, the taxi hovering close behind. Then the 
detective congratulated himself on his foresight, for, on Boirac’s 
reaching the end of the street, he hailed another taxi, and, getting 
in, was driven rapidly off. 

It was the work of a couple of seconds for La Touche to leap 
into his car and to instruct his driver to follow the other vehicle. 

The chase led down to the Grands Boulevards to Bellini’s in the 
Avenue de I’Opera. Here Boirac entered, followed by his 
shadower. 

The great restaurant was about three parts full, and La Touche 
from the door was able to see Boirac taking his seat in one of the 
windows. The detective dropped into a place close to the cash 
desk, and, ordering table-d’hote lunch, insisted on getting the bill 


280 


THE CASK 


at once, on the grounds that his time was limited and that he 
might have to leave before finishing. Then he ate a leisurely 
lunch, keeping an eye on the manufacturer. 

That gentleman was in no hurry, and La Touche had spent a 
long time over his coffee before the other made a move. A num¬ 
ber of people were leaving the restaurant and there was a very 
short queue at the cash desk. La Touche so arranged his de¬ 
parture that he was immediately behind Boirac in this queue. As 
the manufacturer put down his money La Touche saw his finger. 
The scar was there! 

‘‘Here at last is certainty,” thought the detective, as he drew 
back out of the other^s sight. “So Boirac is the man after all! 
My work is done!” 

And then the annoying afterthought arose. Was his work 
done? Was the proof he had got of Boirac’s guilt sufficient? 
There was still the alibi. Always that alibi loomed in the back¬ 
ground, menacing his success. 

Though La Touche had now no doubt Boirac was the man the 
carter saw, he felt it would be more satisfactory if the two could 
be brought together in the hope of getting direct evidence of 
identity. As time was of value he called up Clifford and rapidly 
discussed the point. It was agreed that, if possible. Hill should 
be sent to Paris by that evening^s train. A couple of hours later 
there was a telegram from the solicitor that this had been 
arranged. 

Accordingly, next morning La Touche met the English boat 
train at the Gare du Nord and welcomed a tall, dark man with a 
small, close-cut moustache. As they breakfasted, the detective 
explained what he wished done. 

“The difficulty is that you must see Boirac without his seeing 
you,” he ended up, “we do not want him to know we are on 
his trail.” 

“I understand that, sir?” returned Hill. “Have you any plan 
arranged for me?” 

“Not exactly, but I thought if you were to make up with a 
false beard and wear glasses he wouldn’t spot you. You could 
dress differently also. Then I think you might lunch in the same 
restaurant and come out behind him and see his hand when he’s 
paying same as I did.” 


LA TOUCHE’S DILEMMA 


281 


‘‘That would do, sir, but the worst of it is I don’t know my 
way about either in Paris or in a restaurant of that class.” 

“You can’t speak any French?” 

“Not a word, sir.” 

“Then I think I had better ask my man. Mallet, to go with you. 
He could keep you straight, and you needn’t talk at all.” 

Hill nodded his head. 

“A good idea, sir.” 

“Come, then, and let me get you a rig-out.” 

They drove to shop after shop till the ex-policeman was sup¬ 
plied with new clothes from head to foot. Then they went to a 
theatrical property maker, where a flowing black beard and long 
moustache were fitted on. A pair of clear glass pince-nez com¬ 
pleted the purchases. When, an hour later. Hill stood in La 
Touche’s room dressed up in his new disguise, no one who had 
known him before would have recognised the ex-policeman, still 
less the London carter. 

“Capital, Hill,” said La Touche. “Your own mother wouldn’t 
know you.” 

The detective had sent a wire for his assistant, and Mallet was 
waiting for them. La Touche introduced the two men and ex¬ 
plained his plans. 

“We haven’t much more than time,” said Mallet, “so if you’re 
ready, we’ll go on.” 

In something under three hours they returned. The expedition 
had been a complete success. They had gone direct to Bellini’s, 
preferring to take the risk that the manufacturer did not lunch at 
the same place each day, rather than that of following him again. 
And they were not disappointed. Towards twelve, Boirac had 
entered and taken his seat at what was probably the same table 
in the window. On his rising to leave, they had repeated La 
Touche’s manoeuvre and Hill, just behind him when he was pay¬ 
ing, had seen his finger. Instantly he had identified the scar. 
Indeed, before seeing it he had been sure from Boirac’s build and 
way of moving he was the man they sought. 

In the evening. La Touche gave Hill a good dinner, paid him 
well, and saw him off by the night train to London. Then he 
returned to his hotel, lit a cigar, and lay down on his bed to 
wrestle again with the problem of the alibi. 


282 


THE CASK 


He now knew that the alibi was faked. Boirac, beyond ques¬ 
tion, had been in London at 7.30 on the Tuesday evening. There¬ 
fore he could not have been at Charenton at 2.0. That was the 
ever-recurring difficulty, and he could see no way out. 

He took a piece of paper and wrote down the hours at which 
they definitely knew the manufacturer’s whereabouts. At 7.30 on 
Tuesday evening he was in London at Johnson’s carting establish¬ 
ment in Waterloo Road. From 10.0 till 11.0 next morning, 
Wednesday, he was with Hill, getting the cask from Waterloo to 
the shed. He could not have left London in the interval, so this 
meant that he must have been in the English capital from 7.30 
o’clock on Tuesday evening till 11.0 on Wednesday morning. 
Then he was at the Hotel Maximilian in Brussels at 11.0 on that 
same Wednesday evening. So much was certain beyond doubt or 
question. 

Did these hours work in? On Tuesday, frankly, they did not. 
What about Wednesday? Could a man who was in London at 
11.0 in the morning be in Brussels at 11.0 the same evening? La 
Touche got his Continental Bradshaw. Here it was. London de¬ 
part 2.20 p. m.; Brussels arrive 10.25 p. m. That seemed all 
right. A traveller arriving by that train would reach the Hotel 
Maximilian ‘‘about 11.0.” Then La Touche remembered that 
Boirac’s account of how he spent this day had not been sub¬ 
stantiated. He had told Lefarge he had gone to his brother’s 
house at Malines, having forgotten that the latter was in Sweden. 
No confirmation of that statement was forthcoming. Neither 
the caretaker nor any one else had seen the manufacturer. La 
Touche was not long in coming to the conclusion he had never 
been there at all. No, he had crossed from London by the 2.20. 

Then the detective recalled the telephone. A message had 
been sent by Boirac from one of the cafes in the old town, asking 
the hotel clerk to reserve a room. That call had been received 
about eight o’clock. But at eight o’clock Boirac was not in the 
old town. He was on his journey from London. 

La Touche took up his Bradshaw again. Where would a 
traveller by the 2.20 p. m. from Charing Cross be at eight o’clock? 
And then like a flash he understood. The boat arrived at Ostend 
at 7.30 p. m. and the Brussels train did not leave until 8.40. He 
had telephoned from Ostend I 


LA TOUCHE’S DILEMMA 


283 


So that was it! A simple plan, but how ingenious! And then 
La Touche remembered that Lefarge had been quite unable to 
confirm the statement that Boirac had dined at the cafe in the 
Boulevard Anspach, or had been present at Les Troyens in the 
Theatre de la Monnaie. No. He was on the right track at last. 

The Wednesday was now accounted for, but there still remained 
the terrible difficulty of the Tuesday. What about the cafe at 
Charenton? 

And then La Touche got another of his inspirations. He had 
solved the Wednesday telephone trick. Could that on Tuesday 
be explained in the same way? 

He had already noted that a traveller by the train leaving 
Paris at 12.0 noon and arriving at Victoria at 7.10 could just 
reach Waterloo Road by 7.30. Thinking again over the point, 
he suddenly saw the significance of the hour of the call at the 
carting, establishment. It was late. A man wishing to do busi¬ 
ness there would have gone earlier, had he been able. But this 
man was not able. He had only reached the city at 7.10. 

He turned back to the telephone calls. Where, he asked him¬ 
self with growing excitement, would a passenger by the 12.0 noon 
from Paris be at 2.30? And then he was dashed with disappoint¬ 
ment. That train did not reach Calais till 3.31 p. m., and at 2.30 
it must have been running at full speed somewhere between Abbe¬ 
ville and Boulogne. Boirac could not have telephoned from the 
train. Therefore he could not have travelled by it. 

La Touche had hoped to find that, adopting the same manoeuvre 
on each day, the manufacturer had telephoned from some station 
en routey presumably Calais. But that apparently was not so. 
At the same time, the detective could not but feel he was getting 
near the truth. 

He looked at the time table again. The train in question 
reached Calais at 3.31 and the boat left at 3.45. That was a 
delay of 14 minutes. Would there be time, he wondered, to 
make two long-distance calls in 14 minutes? Hardly, he thought. 
He considered what he himself would do if confronted with 
Boirac’s problem. 

And then suddenly he saw it. What could be more obvious 
than to go by an earlier train and to break the journey at Calais? 
How would this time table work? 


284 


THE CASK 


Paris 

dep. 

9.50 p.m. 

Calais 

arr. 

1.11 p.m. 

Calais 

dep. 

3.45 p.m. 

Victoria 

arr. 

7.10 p.m. 


If Boirac had done that he would have had over two and a half 
hours in Calais, which would have given him the opportunity he 
required. La Touche believed he had reached the solution at 
last. 

But Boirac had been actually seen telephoning from Charen- 
ton. For a moment the detective’s spirits fell. But he felt he 
must be right so far. Some explanation of the difficulty would 
occur to him. 

And it did. The waiter had believed Boirac was there on 
Monday. And he must have been! In some way he must have 
faked the telephoning. There could be nothing else for it. 

Another point occurred to him. Surely, he thought, the tele¬ 
phone operator always mentions the name of the calling town in 
inter-urban calls? If Boirac had called up his office from Calais, 
would not the operator have said, “Calais wants you”? If so, how 
had the manufacturer been able to deceive his butler and chief 
clerk? 

This was undoubtedly a difficulty. But he put it on one side 
as he began to think how this new theory could be tested. 

First he would go again to the Charenton waiter and explain 
the importance of settling the day on which Boirac lunched. 
Perhaps the man would now be able to recall some circumstance 
which would make this clear. Next he would find out from 
Frangois and Dufresne whether any phrase such as “Calais wants 
you” had been used by the telephone operator. This inquiry, he 
noted, must be made with great skill, so as to avoid rousing 
Boirac’s suspicions should either man repeat the conversation. 
From the telephone central at Calais, if not at Paris, he could 
doubtless find if calls were made from the former town to the 
latter at the hour in question, and he might also find that some 
one answering to the description of Boirac had made those calls. 
Finally, it might be possible at Ostend to get information about 
the Brussels call. 


LA TOUCHE’S DILEMMA 285 

Inquiries on these points should reveal enough to either con¬ 
firm or disprove his theory. 

The next morning therefore saw La Touche again in the cafe 
at Charenton in conversation with the waiter. 

“The point as to which day the gentleman was here has become 
important,” he explained, “and I shall hand you another twenty 
francs if you can settle it.” 

The man was evidently anxious to earn the money. He thought 
earnestly for some time, but at last had to confess he could recall 
nothing fixing the date. 

“Do you remember what he had to eat? Would that help 
you?” asked the detective. 

The waiter shook his head after consideration. 

“Or any little matter of a clean cloth or napkin or anything 
of that kind? No? Or any other person who was in at the 
same time, or to whom you may have spoken on the subject?” 

Again the man shook his head. Then suddenly a look of satis¬ 
faction passed over his face. 

“But yes, monsieur,” he said eagerly, “I remember now. What 
you have just asked me brings it to my mind. M. Pascot lunched 
also when the gentleman was here, and he noticed him and asked 
me if I knew who he was. M. Pascot may be able to tell us.” 

“Who is M. Pascot?” 

“The apothecary, monsieur. From a dozen doors up the street. 
He comes here sometimes when Madame goes shopping to Paris. 
If you like, monsieur, I will go with you to him and we can 
inquire.” 

“I should be greatly obliged.” 

A walk of a few yards brought them to the chemist’s shop. M. 
Pascot was a large, bald-headed man, with a high colour and a 
consequential manner. 

“Good-day, M. Pascot,” the waiter greeted him deferentially. 
“This gentleman is a friend of mine, a detective, and he is engaged 
on an inquiry of much importance. You remember the man with 
the black beard who was lunching in the cafe the last day you 
were in? He was sitting at the little table in the alcove and then 
he began telephoning. You remember? You asked me who he 
was.” 


286 


THE CASK 

‘T remember,” rumbled the apothecary in a deep bass voice, 
^‘and what of him?” 

‘‘My friend here wants to find out what day he was at the 
cafe, and I thought perhaps you would be able to tell him?” 

“And how should I be able to tell him?” 

“Well, M. Pascot, you see it was on the same day that you were 
with us, and I thought maybe you would be able to fix that date, 
the day Madame was in Paris—^you told me that.” 

The pompous man seemed slightly annoyed, as if the waiter 
was taking a liberty in mentioning his personal concerns before a 
stranger. La Touche broke in with his smooth suavity. 

“If, M. Pascot, you could do anything to help me, I should be 
more than grateful. I should explain to you that I am acting on 
behalf of an innocent man,” and he drew a pathetic picture of the 
evil case in which Felix found himself, ending up by delicately 
insinuating that aT’eward for suitable information was not out of 
the reckoning. 

M. Pascot thawed. 

“Permit me to consult Madame, monsieur,” he said, and with 
a bow he withdrew. In a few moments he reappeared. 

“I can recollect the date now, monsieur. Madame had occa¬ 
sion to go to Paris to see her solicitor on business, and a note of 
the date was kept. It was Monday, the 29th of March last.” 

“I cannot say, monsieur, how obliged I am to you,” said La 
Touche in heartfelt tones, and by a sort of legerdemain, of which 
both participants remained profoundly unconscious, a twenty- 
franc bill passed from hand to hand. La Touche was extraordi¬ 
narily pleased. He had broken the alibi. 

Leaving the apothecary and waiter bowing and similing as a 
result of their douceurs. La Touche turned his steps to the pier 
and took a river steamer to the Pont de PAlma. Walking up the 
Avenue, he rang at Boirac’s and was soon closeted with Frangois 
in his little room. 

“About that telephone message we were talking of the other 
day, M. Frangois,” he remarked casually, when they had con¬ 
versed on general subjects for some minutes, “I wasn’t quite cer¬ 
tain where you said M. Boirac was speaking from. My first 
recollection was that you said Calais; then I wondered if it was 


LA TOUCHE’S DILEMMA 287 

not Charenton. I have to make a report on my proceedings and 
I would like to get it as correct as possible.” 

The butler looked surprised and interested. 

“It is curious, monsieur, that you should ask me that, for I 
don’t remember mentioning anything about it. I also thought at 
first it was Calais. I thought the operator said Ualais wants 
you,’ and I was surprised, for I did not know M. Boirac intended 
to leave Paris. But I was wrong, for when M. Boirac began to 
speak I asked him the direct question. ‘You are speaking from 
Calais?’ I said. ‘No,’ he answered, ‘from Charenton.’ I am 
sure now it was my mistake and that what I thought was Calais 
was really Charenton. I am not very quick and on the telephone 
these names sound very much alike. Strange your making the 
same mistake.” 

“It is curious,” admitted La Touche, “almost like one of those 
extraordinary cases of thought transference you read of. How¬ 
ever, I am obliged for your confirmation that it was Charenton,” 
and he diverted the conversation into other channels. 

His next visit was to the Telephone Central. Here at first they 
were not keen to give him any information, but on producing his 
card and confidentially explaining his business to the head of the 
department, he obtained what he wanted. Inquiries were made 
from Calais by wire, and after a considerable delay he was in¬ 
formed that at 2.32 and 2.44 on the Tuesday in question calls 
were made on Paris. The demand came from the public call 
office and were for the following numbers: Passy 386 and Nord 
745. When La Touche found from the directory that these num¬ 
bers were those of M. Boirac’s house and office respectively, he 
could hardly refrain from laughing aloud. 

“How, I wonder,” he thought, “did Lefarge neglect so obvious 
a check on the Charenton messages?” Then it occurred to him 
that probably only inter-urban calls were so noted. 

The proof of his theory seemed so complete he did not think it 
necessary to make inquiries at Ostend. Indeed, he believed his 
task was at last accomplished, and he began to consider an imme¬ 
diate return to London. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE UNRAVELLING OF THE WEB 

When La Touche solved the problem of how Boirac had faked his 
alibi, his first impression was that his work was done. But, as 
had happened so often before, second thoughts showed him that 
this was hardly the case. Though he had established Boirac’s 
guilt to his own satisfaction, he doubted if he could prove it in 
court, and, indeed, the whole matter was still far from clear. 

He felt that if he could only find the carter who had brought 
the cask to the rue Cardinet he would reach certainty on at least 
some of the points which were puzzling him. He therefore de¬ 
cided to concentrate once more on this problem. 

Since the sending out of his circular to the managers of the 
various carting establishments in the city, he had interviewed no 
less than twenty-seven more or less clean-shaven, white-haired, 
and sharp-featured carters. But all to no purpose. The man he 
wanted was not among them. And as answers to practically all 
his circulars had been received, he had reluctantly come to the 
conclusion his plan had failed. 

That evening, when Mallet called to make his customary report 
on Boirac’s doings, the two men discussed the matter, and it was 
a remark dropped by his assistant that turned La Touche’s 
thoughts to a point he had previously overlooked. 

“Why do you think he was employed by a cartage contractor?” 
Mallet had asked, and La Touche had been going to reply with 
some asperity that cartage contractors were not uncommonly 
found to employ carters, when the pertinence of the other’s ques¬ 
tion struck him. Why, indeed? Of the thousands of carters in 
Paris, only a small proportion were employed by cartage firms. 
By far the greater number worked for specific businesses. Might 
not the man who brought the cask to the goods station belong 
to this class, and if so, might not this account for the failure of 
the original advertisements? If a carter were bribed to use his 

288 


289 


THE UNRAVELLING OF THE WEB 

employer’s vehicle for his own gain he would not afterwards give 
the fact away. And to La Touche it seemed that such a move 
would be just what might be expected from a man of Boirac’s 
mentality. 

But if this theory were correct; if the carter had thus been 
bound over to silence, how was the man to be discovered and the 
truth wrung from him? 

La Touche smoked two cigars over this problem, and then it 
occurred to him that the method he had already adopted was 
sound as far as it went. It merely did not go far enough. 

The only way in which he could ensure finding his hypothetical 
carter would be to send a circular to every employer in Paris. 
But that was too large an order. 

That night, he discussed the matter with the two porters, whom 
he found intelligent men and keenly interested in the inquiry. 
He made them describe the kind of cart the cask was brought in, 
then with a directory he marked off the trades in which the em¬ 
ployment of such a vehicle was likely. When he had finished, 
though some thousands of names were included, he did not think 
the number overwhelming. 

For a considerable time he pondered the question of advertising 
his circular in the press. At last he decided he could not do so, 
as if Boirac saw it he would doubtless take precautions to prevent 
the truth becoming known. La Touche therefore returned to the 
office of the Business Supplies Company and instructed them to 
send his circular to each of the thousands of employers in the 
selected trades, they tabulating the replies and giving him the 
summary. Though he was by no means sanguine of the success 
of this move, he felt it offered a chance. 

For the next three evenings La Touche and the porters had a 
busy time. White-haired carters turned up at the Hotel d’Arles 
literally in dozens, till the management threatened an ejectment 
and talked of a claim for fresh carpets. But all was fruitless. 
The man they wanted did not appear. 

On the third day, amongst other letters sent on from the Busi¬ 
ness Supplies Company, was one which immediately interested 
La Touche. 

^Tn reply to your circular letter of the 18th inst.,” wrote Messrs. 
Corot, Fils, of the due de Rivoli, ^‘we have a man in our employ- 




290 


THE CASK 


ment who, at the end of March, answered your description. His 
name is Jean Dubois, of 18b rue de Falaise, near Les Halles. 
About that time, however, he ceased shaving and has now grown 
a beard and moustache. We have asked him to call with you.” 

Was it, thought La Touche, merely a coincidence that this 
clean-shaven carter should begin to grow a beard immediately 
after the delivery of the cask? When two more days passed and 
the man did not turn up. La Touche determined to call on him. 

Accordingly the next evening he arranged for Mallet and one 
of the porters to deal with the men at the Hotel d’Arles, while he 
himself in company with the other set out to find Dubois. The 
rue de Falaise turned out to be a narrow, dirty street of high, 
sombre buildings, with the word slum writ large across their grimy 
frontages. At 18b, La Touche ascended and knocked at a ram¬ 
shackle door on a dark stone landing. It was opened by a slat¬ 
ternly woman, who stood, silently waiting for him to speak, in the 
gloom of the threshold. La Touche addressed her with his usual 
suavity. 

“Good-evening, madame. Is this where M. Jean Dubois of 
Messrs. Corot, Fils lives?” 

The woman signfied assent, but without inviting her visitor in. 

“I have a little job for him. Could I see him, please?” 

“He’s not in, monsieur.” 

“That’s unfortunate for me and for him too, I fancy. Can you 
tell me where I should find him?” 

The woman shrugged her shoulders. 

“I cannot tell, monsieur.” She spoke in a dull, toneless way, 
as if the struggle for existence had sapped away all her interest 
in life.” 

La Touche took out a five franc piece and pushed it into her 
hand. 

“You get hold of him for me,” he said, “I want this little job 
done and he could do it. It’ll get him into no trouble, and I’ll 
pay him well.” 

The woman hesitated. Then, after a few seconds, she said:— 

“If I tell you where he is, will you give me away?” 

“No, on my honour. We shall have found him by accident.’' 

“Come this way, then, monsieur.” 

She led them down the stairs and out again into the dingy 


THE UNRAVELLING OF THE WEB 291 

street. Passing along it like a furtive shadow she turned twice, 
then halted at the corner of a third street. 

“Down there, monsieur,” she pointed. “You see that cafe 
with the coloured glass windows? He’ll be in there,” and with¬ 
out waiting for an acknowledgment she slipped away, vanishing 
silently into the gloom. 

The two men pushed open the cafe door and entered a fairly 
large room dotted with small marble tables, with a bar in one 
corner and a dancing stage at the back. Seating themselves 
unostentatiously at a table near the door they called for drinks. 

There were some fifteen or twenty men and a few women in the 
place, some reading the papers, some playing dominoes, but most 
lounging in groups and talking. As La Touche’s keen eye ran 
over the faces, he soon spotted his man. 

“Is that he, Charcot?” he asked, pointing to a small, unhealthy 
looking fellow, with a short, untidy, white beard and moustache. 

The porter looked cautiously. Then he assented eagerly. 

“It’s the man, monsieur, I believe. The beard changes him a 
bit, but I’m nearly sure it’s he.” 

The suspect was one of those on the outskirts of a group, to 
whom a stout, fussy man with a large nose was holding forth on 
some socialistic subject. La Touche crossed over and touched the 
white-haired man on the arm. 

“M. Jean Dubois?” 

The man started and an expression of fear came into his eyes. 
But he answered civilly enough. 

“Yes, monsieur. But I don’t know you.” 

“My name is La Touche. I want a word or two with you. 
Will you have a drink with me and my friend here?” 

He indicated the porter, Charcot, and they moved over. The 
fear had left Dubois’s eyes, but he still looked uneasy. In silence 
they sat down. 

“Now Dubois, what will you take?” 

When the carter’s wants were supplied. La Touche bent towards 
him and began speaking in a low tone:— 

“I dare say, Dubois, you already guess what I want, and I 
wish to say before anything else that you have nothing to fear if 
you are straight with me. On the contrary, I will give you one 
hundred francs if you answer my questions truly. If not—^well, 


292 THE CASK 

I am connected with the police, and we’ll become better 
acquainted.” 

“Dubois moved uneasily as he stammered:— 

“I don’t know what you mean, monsieur.” 

“So that there shall be no mistake, I shdl tell you. I want to 
know who it was engaged you to take the cask to the rue Cardinet 
goods station.” 

La Touche, who was watching the other intently, saw him start, 
while his face paled and the look of fear returned to his eyes. 
It was evident he understood the question. That involuntary 
motion had given him away. 

“I assure you, monsieur, I don’t know what you mean. What 
cask are you referring to?” 

La Touche bent closer. 

“Tell me, do you know what was in that cask? No? Well, I’ll 
tell you. There was a body in it—the body of a woman—a 
murdered woman. Did you not guess that from the papers? 
Did you not realise that the cask you carried to the station was 
the one that all the papers have been full of? Now, do you want 
to be arrested as an accessory after the fact in a murder case?” 

The man was ghastly, and beads of perspiration stood on his 
forehead. In a trembling voice he began again to protest his 
ignorance. La Touche cut him short. 

“Chut, man! You needn’t keep it up. Your part in the thing 
is known, and if it wasn’t you would soon give it away. Dubois, 
you haven’t red enough blood for this kind of thing! Be guided 
by me. Make a clean breast of it, and I’ll give you the hundred 
francs, and, what’s more. I’ll do my best to help you out of your 
trouble with your employers. If you don’t, you’ll have to come 
along now to the Surete. Make up your mind quickly what 
you’re going to do.” 

The man, evidently panic stricken, remained silent. La Touche 
took out his watch. 

“I’ll give you five minutes,” he said, and, leaning back in his 
chair, he lit a cigar. 

Before the time was up the man spoke. 

“If I tell you everything will you not arrest me?” His fright 
was pitiable. 

‘‘Certainly not. I don’t want to do you any harm. If you give 


293 


THE UNRAVELLING OF THE WEB 

me the information you go free with a hundred francs in your 
pocket. But if you try to deceive me, you can explain your posi¬ 
tion to-morrow to the examining magistrate.” 

The bluff had its effect. 

‘T’ll tell you, monsieur. I’ll tell you the whole truth.” 

“Good,” said La Touche, “then we had better move to a more 
private place. We’ll go to my hotel, and you, Charcot”—he 
turned to the porter—^“get away back to the rue de Lyon and tell 
M. Mallet and your friend the man’s found. Here’s what I owe 
you and a trifle more.” 

Charcot bowed and vanished, while La Touche and the carter, 
getting out into one of the larger streets, drove to the rue de la 
Fayette. 

“Now, Dubois,” said the detective, when they were seated in 
his room. 

“I’m going to tell you the gospel truth, monsieur,” began the 
carter, and from his earnest, anxious manner La Touche believed 
him. “And I’m not going to deny that I was in the wrong, even 
if I do get the sack over it. But I was fair tempted, and I 
thought it was an easy way to earn a bit of money wihout doing 
any one any harm. For that’s the fact, monsieur. What I did, 
did no harm to any one. 

“It was on Monday, monsieur, Monday the 29th March, that I 
was out at Charenton delivering goods for Messrs. Corot. I 
stopped at a cafe there for a glass of beer. While I was drinking 
it a man came up to me and asked was that my cart? I said I was 
in charge of it, but it belonged to Messrs. Corot. T want a little 
job done with a cart,’ he says, ‘and it’s not convenient for me to 
go into Paris to an agent’s, and if you would save me the trouble 
by doing it for me I’ll pay you well.’ T couldn’t do that, mon¬ 
sieur,’ I says, ‘for if my employers got to know they’d give me 
the sack.’ ‘But how would they know?’ he asks, ‘I wouldn’t tell 
them, and I guess you wouldn’t either.’ Well, monsieur, we talked 
on, and first I refused, but afterwards I agreed to do it. I admit 
I was using the cart like that, but he tempted me. He said 
it would only take about an hour, and he would give me ten 
francs. So I agreed.” 

“What was this man like?” 


294 


THE CASK 


“He was a middle-sized man, monsieur, with a black pointed 
beard, and very well dressed.’’ 

“And what did he want you to do?” 

“On the next Thursday afternoon at half-past four I was to go 
to an address he gave me and load up a cask, and bring it to the 
corner of the rue de la Fayette, close to the Gare du Nord. He 
said he would meet me there and tell me where to take it.” 

“And did he?” 

“Yes. I got there first and waited about ten minutes, and then 
he came up. He took the old label off the cask and nailed on 
another he had with him. Then he told me to take the cask to 
the State Railway Goods Station in the rue Cardinet and book it 
to London. He gave me the freight as well as the ten francs for 
myself. He said he should know if the cask did not get to Lon¬ 
don, and threatened that if I played any tricks he would inform 
Messrs. Corot what I had done.” 

This statement was not at all what La Touche had expected, 
and he was considerably puzzled. 

“What was the address he gave you at which you were to get 
the cask?” 

“I forget the exact address. It was from a large corner house 
in the Avenue de I’Alma.” 

“What?” roared La Touche, springing excitedly to his feet. 
“The Avenue de I’Alma, do you say?” He laughed aloud. 

So this was it! The cask that went to St. Katherine’s Docks— 
the cask containing the body—^had gone, not from the Gare du 
Nord, but direct from Boirac’s house! Fool that he was not to 
have thought of this! Light was at last dawning. Boirac had 
killed his wife—killed her in her own house—and had there 
packed her body in the cask, sending it direct to Felix. At long 
last La Touche had got the evidence he wanted, evidence that 
would clear Felix—evidence that would bring Boirac to the 
scaffold! 

He was thrilled with his discovery. For a moment the whole 
affair seemed clear, but once again second thoughts showed him 
there was a good deal still to be explained. However, once he had 
got rid of this Dubois, he would see just where he stood. 

tie questioned the carter exhaustively, but without gaining 
much further information. That the man had no idea of the 


THE UNRAVELLING OF THE WEB 


295 


identity of his seducer was clear. The only name he had got hold 
of was that of Dupierre, for Boirac had instructed him to say at 
his house that he had called for Messrs. Dupierre’s cask. Asked 
if he had not seen the advertisements of rewards for the informa¬ 
tion he had now given, the man said he had, but that he was afraid 
to come forward. First he feared he would lose his job if the 
matter came to his employer’s ears, and then the very fact that so 
large a reward was offered had frightened him, as he assumed he 
had unwittingly helped with some crime. He had suspected the 
matter was one of robbery until he saw of the discovery of the 
cask in the papers. Then he had at once guessed that he had 
assisted a murderer to dispose of his victim’s body, and he had 
lived in a veritable nightmare lest his share in the business should 
be discovered. Failing to get anything further out of him. La 
Touche finally dismissed him somewhat contemptuously with his 
hundred francs. Then he settled himself to try and puzzle out 
his problem. 

And first as to the movements of the cask. It had started from 
Boirac’s house; how did it get there? Clearly from Dupierre’s. 
It must have been the cask in which Boirac’s statue had been sent 
home. That cask, then, left Dupierre’s on the Saturday of the 
dinner party, reaching Boirac’s house the same day. It lay there 
until the following Thursday. During that time the statue was 
taken out and the body substituted. The cask then travelled to 
London, was taken by Felix to St. Malo, and finally got into the 
hands of the police at Scotland Yard. 

But then, what about the cask which was met at Waterloo and 
sent back from London to the Gare du Nord? 

This, La Touche saw, must have been a different cask, and 
there must therefore have been two moving about, and not one 
as they had believed. He tried to follow the movements of this 
second cask. It left Dupierre’s on the Tuesday evening, reached 
Waterloo on the following morning and on next day, Thursday, 
was sent back to Paris, reaching the Gare du Nord at 4.45 p. m. 
It had always been assumed this cask went from there to the rue 
Cardinet Goods Station. This was now proved to have been an 
error. Where, then, did it go? 

Like a flash La Touche saw. It had gone from the Gare du 
Nord to Dupierre’s. He looked up his chronology of the case. 


296 


THE CASK 


Yes a cask had been received by Dupierre on that Thursday 
evening, but they had believed it had come from Boirac’s house. 
And then the whole diabolical plot began dimly to appear, as 
La Touche endeavoured to picture the scene which had probably 
taken place. 

Boirac, he conjectured, must have discovered his wife has 
eloped with Felix. Mad with jealousy and hatred he kills her. 
Then, cooling down somewhat, he finds himself with the body on 
his hands. What is he to do with it? He thinks of the cask 
standing in the study. He sees that a better receptacle for getting 
the body out of the house could hardly be devised. He therefore 
unpacks the statue and puts in the body. The question then 
arises, where is he to send it? A horrible idea occurs to him. He 
will wreak his vengeance on Felix by sending it to him. And then 
a second idea strikes him. If he could arrange that the police 
would find the body in Felixes possession, would the artist not 
then be suspected and perhaps executed? Truly a ghastly ven¬ 
geance! Boirac then types the Le Gautier letter, and sends it to 
Felix with the idea of making the artist act in so suspicious a way 
that the police will interfere and find him with the body. 

So far La Touche felt his surmises had a ring of probability, 
but he was still puzzled about the second cask. But, as he turned 
the matter over in his mind, he gradually began to see light here 
too. 

Boirac had received a cask from Dupierre with his statue. But 
as it had gone to Felix he had no empty cask to send back in its 
place to the sculptors. He must return them an empty cask, or 
else suspicion falls on him at once. Where is he to get it? 

And then La Touche saw that the whole business of the second 
cask must have been arranged simply to meet this difficulty. 
Boirac must have ordered it, forging Felixes handwriting. La 
Touche recollected that order was written on the same paper as 
the Le Gautier letter, suggesting a common origin for both. 
Boirac met it in London, took it to the shed, there removed and 
destroyed the statue, and had the cask returned to Paris. At the 
Gare du Nord he doubtless changed the labels, so that when it 
reached Dupierre’s it bore that with the address of his own house. 
The other label he must have altered from the Waterloo route to 
that of long sea. This would account for Dubois’s statement that 


THE UNRAVELLING OF THE WEB 


297 


Boirac had changed the labels when he met him in the rue de La 
Fayette, as well as for the curious faking'of that described by the 
clerk Broughton. 

The more La Touche pondered over this theory, the more satis¬ 
fied he became that he had at last reached the truth. But he had 
to admit that even yet there were several points he could not 
understand. When did the murder take place, and where? Did 
Madame really elope with Felix, and, if so, did her husband bring 
her back alive or dead? How did the impression of the letter 
ordering the second statue come to be on Felix’s blotting paper? 
If Madame was murdered in Paris, how did the jewelled pin reach 
St. Malo? 

But in spite of these and other difficulties. La Touche was more 
than pleased with his progress, and, as very late he went to his 
bedroom, he felt a short investigation should be sufficient to test 
his theory, as well as to clear up all that stilT remained doubtful. 




CHAPTER XXIX 


A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 

Three days after the finding of the carter, Dubois, and La 
Touche’s discovery of what he believed was the true solution of 
the mystery, he received a letter which interested him consider¬ 
ably. It came by post to his hotel, and was as follows— 

^‘Rue St. Jean 1, 

'^Avenue de l’Alma 
^^26th May, 1912. 

‘‘Dear Monsieur, —In connection with your calls here and 
inquiries into the death of my late mistress, I have just by acci¬ 
dent hit on a piece of information which I am sure would be of 
value to you. It explains the closing of the front door which, 
you will recollect, I heard about 1.0 a. m. on the night of the 
dinner party. I think it will have the effect of entirely clearing 
your client, though I am afraid it does not point to any one else 
as the murderer. M. Boirac is dining out to-night and most of 
the servants are attending the marriage festivities of one of the 
housemaids; the house is therefore unprotected, and I cannot 
leave it to call on you, but if you could see your way to call here 
any time during the evening, I shall tell you what I have learnt. 

“Yours respectifully, 

“Henri Francois.” 

“Extraordinary,” thought La Touche, “how, when you get some 
information about a case, more nearly always comes in. Here I 
worked for ages on this case without getting any forrader, and 
Frangois made no discoveries to encourage me. Now, when I have 
almost solved it and it no longer matters, he comes forward with 
his help. I suppose it’s the inverse of misfortunes never coming 
singly.” 

He looked at his watch. It was just five o’clock. M. Boirac 

298 


A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 299 

might not leave home till nearly eight. If he went a few minutes 
past that hour he could see Frangois and hear his news. 

He wondered what the butler could have discovered. If it 
really did what he claimed—explained the closing of the front 
door, that would necessarily clear up much that was still doubtful 
about the events of that tragic night. 

Suddenly an idea flashed into his mind. Was the letter gen¬ 
uine? He had never seen the butler^s hand-writing, and there¬ 
fore could form no opinion from its appearance. But was the 
whole thing likely? Could it possibly be the work of Boirac? 
Might not the manufacturer have discovered that he. La Touche, 
was on his trail, and might not this be a trap? Could it be an 
attempt to lure him into a house in which he and his information 
would be at the manufacturer’s mercy? 

This was a sinister idea, and he sat pondering its possibility 
for some minutes. On the whole, he was disposed to reject it. 
Any attempt on his life or liberty would be exceedingly risky for 
Boirac. If he really knew what had come out, his game would 
surely be to collect what money he could and disappear while 
there was yet time. All the same La Touche felt he should 
neglect no precaution for his own safety. 

He went to the telephone and called up the house in the Avenue 
de I’Alma. 

‘Ts M. Frangois there?” he asked, when he had got through. 

^‘No, monsieur,” was the reply. ‘‘He has gone out for the 
afternoon. He will be in about 7.30.” 

“Thank you. Who is speaking, please?” 

“Jules, monsieur, the footman. I am in charge till M. Frangois 
returns.” 

This was unsatisfactory, but quite natural and unsuspicious. 
La Touche felt fairly satisfied, and yet, almost against his will, 
a doubt remained. He thought he might be better with company, 
and made another call. 

“That you. Mallet? Which of you is off duty? You? Well, 
I want your company to-night on a short excursion. Will you call 
round for dinner here at seven and we can go on afterwards?” 

When Mallet arrived. La Touche showed him the letter. The 
subordinate took precisely the same view as his chief. 

“I don’t think it’s a plant,” he said, “but with Boirac you can’t 


) 

300 THE CASK 

be too careful. I should bring your John Cockerill, or whatever 
you use, if I were you.” 

‘T’ll do so,” said the other, slipping an automatic pistol into 
his pocket. 

They reached the house in the Avenue de I’Alma about 8.15, 
and La Touche rang. To their surprise and disappointment the 
door was opened by no less a person than Boirac himself. He 
seemed to be on the point of going out, as he wore his hat and a 
dark, caped overcoat which, open at the front, showed his evening 
dress. Round his right hand was tied a blood-stained handker¬ 
chief. He appeared annoyed and as if his temper might give way 
at any minute. He looked inquiringly at the detectives. 

“Could we see M. Frangois, monsieur,” asked La Touche 
politely. 

“If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, certainly,” answered 
Boirac. “I was just going out when I cut my hand and I had to 
send him for a doctor to stop the bleeding. He will be back in a 
moment. If you like to wait, you can do so in his room—the 
fourth door on the right.” 

La Touche hesitated a moment. What if it was a plant after 
all? Finding Boirac here alone was certainly suspicious. But 
the cut at least was genuine. La Touche could see the red stain 
slowly spreading across the handkerchief. 

“Well, messieurs, I’m sorry I can’t hold the door open. Kindly 
either come in and wait, or, if you prefer it, call back later on.” 

La Touche made up his mind. They were armed and on their 
guard. As he entered the hall his left hand in his overcoat pocket 
crept to the handle of his magazine pistol, and he quietly covered 
the manufacturer. 

The latter closed the front door behind them and led the way 
to Frangois’s room. It was in darkness, but Boirac, entering 
before the others, turned on the light. 

“Come in and be seated, gentlemen, if you please,” he said. 
“I should like a word with you before Frangois returns.” 

La Touche did not at all like the turn affairs were taking. 
Boirac’s conduct seemed to him to grow more and more suspicious. 
Then he reflected again that they were two to one, were armed, 
and keenly on their guard, and that there could be no cause for 


301 


A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 

uneasiness. Besides, there could be no trap. Boirac had pre¬ 
ceded them into the room. 

The manufacturer pulled together three chairs. 

‘Tf you would kindly be seated, g&ntlemen*, I would tell you 
what I want you to know.’^ 

The detectives obeyed. La Touche still keeping his pistol turned 
on his host. 

^'Gentlemen,’^ went on the latter, “I owe you both a very full 
apology for having played a trick on you, but I am sure, when I 
have explained the extraordinary circumstances in which I am 
placed, you will hold me, if not justified, at least excused. And 
first, I must tell you that I know who you are, and on what! 
business you came to Paris.” 

He paused for a moment. Then, the others not replying, he 
continued:— 

“I happened to notice your advertisement, M. La Touche, for 
Mile. Lambert, and it set me thinking. And when I found, M. 
Mallet, that you and your friend were shadowing me, I thought 
still more. As a result of my cogitations I employed a private 
detective, and learnt from him the identity of both of you and 
what you were engaged on. When I learnt that you had foimd 
Mile. Lambert, I guessed you would soon discover the typewriter, 
and sure enough, my detective soon after reported that you had 
purchased a second-hand No. 7 Remington. Then I had the 
carter, Dubois, shadowed, and I thus learnt that you had dis¬ 
covered him also. I have to compliment you, M. La Touche, on 
the cleverness with which you found out these matters.” 

Again he paused, looking inquiringly and somewhat hesitatingly 
at the others. 

^Tray proceed, M. Boirac,” said La Touche at last. 

'Tirst, then, I offer you my apologies for the trick played you. 
I wrote the note which brought you here. I feared if I wrote in 
my own name you would suspect some trick on my part and refuse 
to come.” 

''Not unnaturally a suspicion of the kind did enter our minds,” 
answered La Touche. 'Tt is but fair to tell you, M. Boirac, that 
we are armed”—La Touche withdrew his automatic pistol from 
his pocket and laid it on a table at his hand—‘'and if you give 


302 


THE CASK 


either of us the slightest cause for anxiety, we shall fire without 
waiting to make inquiries.” 

The manufacturer smiled bittefly. 

‘T am not surprised at your suspicions. They are reasonable, 
though absolutely unfounded, and your precautions cannot there¬ 
fore be offensive to me. As I try to do everything thoroughly, 
I may admit this cut on my hand was also faked. I simply 
squeezed a tube of liquid red paint on to the handkerchief. I did 
it to account for my being alone in the hall when you arrived, 
which I thought necessary, lest you might refuse to enter.” 

La Touche nodded. 

“Pray proceed with your statement,” he said again. 

For a man of his years, Boirac looked strangely old and worn. 
His black hair was flecked with white, his face drawn and unhappy 
and his eyes weary and sombre. Though he had been speaking 
quietly enough, he seemed deeply moved and at a loss how to 
proceed. At last, with a gesture of despair, he went on:— 

“What I have to say is not easy, but, alas, I deserve that. I 
may tell you at once without any beating about the bush—I 
brought you here to-night to make my confession. Yes, gentle¬ 
men, you see before you the miserable, guilty man. I killed her, 
gentlemen. I did it that awful night of the dinner party. And 
since then I have never known one moment’s ease. What I have 
suffered no living being could describe. I have been in hell ever 
since. I have aged more in these last few weeks than in ten 
years of ordinary life. And now, when to the gnawings of re¬ 
morse the certainty of the result of your researches is looming 
before me—I can bear it no longer. The suspense must end. 
Therefore, after much thought I have decided to make my 
confession.” 

That the man was in earnest and his emotion genuine La 
Touche could no longer doubt. But his suspicions still remained. 
He asked a question. 

“Why have you brought us here to tell us, M. Boirac? Surely 
the obvious thing would have been for you to go to the Surete 
and see M. Chauvet.” 

“I know. I should have done that. But this was easier. I 
tell you, gentlemen, it is bad enough to have to say this to you 
here, sitting quietly in my own house. There—with several and 


A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 303 

perhaps stupid officials, with typists—I just couldn’t face it. 
What I want you to do is this: I will tell you everything. Any 
questions you ask I will answer. Then I don’t want to be 
bothered with it again. All I now hope for is that the end will 
come quickly. You do what is necessary and at the trial I will 
plead guilty. You will agree?” 

^‘We will hear what you have to say.” 

‘Tor that, at least, I am grateful.” He pulled himself together 
with an obvious effort and continued in a low tone, without show¬ 
ing very evident traces of emotion. 

“My statement, I fear, will be a long one, as I must tell you 
all that occurred from the beginning, so that you may understand 
what led up to this awful consummation. A great part of it you 
already know—how my wife and Felix fell in love at the art 
school, and how her father refused his consent to their marriage, 
then how I, too, fell a victim and asked her hand; how my suit 
was looked upon with favour and I was misled both by herself 
and her father about what had taken place at the art school, and 
how, in short, we were married. And you know, too, I imagine, 
that our marriage from the first was a failure. I loved Annette 
intensely, but she never cared for me. We needn’t go into it, but 
I soon saw that she had only married me in a fit of despair at her 
engagement being broken off. She did me the gravest wrong, 
though I admit I don’t think she meant or realised it. We drifted 
farther and farther apart, till life together became insupportable. 
And then I met Felix and asked him to. the house, not knowing 
till weeks later that he was the man who had been in love with 
my wife at the art school. But you must not think I have any¬ 
thing to say against the honour of either of them. My wife 
spoiled my life it is true, but she did not elope with Felix, nor did 
he, so far as I know, ask her to. They were good friends, but, 
to the best of my belief, nothing more. That is the smallest and 
the only reparation I can make them, and I make it unreservedly. 

“But with me, alas, it was different. Balked of any chance 
of happiness in my home through my wife’s wicked action—I say 
it advisedly—^her wicked action in marrying me while she loved 
another, I succumbed to the temptation to look elsewhere for 
happiness. I met, quite by accident, some one with whom I could 
have been happy. You will never learn who she was or how I 


304 


THE CASK 


managed to meet her without being suspected—it is enough to 
say that things reached suph a pass that this woman and I found 
we could no longer go on in the way we were, meeting by stealth, 
seeing each other only with carefully thought-out precautions. 
The situation was intolerable and I determined to end it. And 
it was on the evening of the dinner party that I first saw the way. 

^‘But here, before I go on to tell you the events of that terrible 
night, lest you might try to find this woman and saddle her with 
a part of the responsibility for what followed, let me tell you 
that here again I lost. The week after I destroyed my soul with 
the ghastly crime of which I will tell you, she got a chill. It 
turned to pneumonia, and in four days she was dead. I saw the 
judgment of Heaven beginning. But that is for me alone. Her 
name, at any rate, is safe. You will never find it out.’’ 

Boirac’s voice had fallen still lower. He spoke in a sort of 
toneless, numb way, as if mechanically, and yet his hearers could 
see that only his iron control prevented a breakdown. 

^‘On that night of the dinner party,” he resumed, met Felix 
accidentally in the hall on his arrival, and brought him into my 
study to see an etching. It is true we there spoke of the cask 
which had just arrived with my group., but I gave him no informa¬ 
tion such as would have enabled him to obtain a similar one. 

^‘All that has been found out of the events of that evening up to 
the time that I left the works is true. It is true I thought at first 
I would be kept till late, and afterwards got away comparatively 
early. I actually left the works about eleven, took the Metro 
and changed at Chatelet, as I said, but from there my statement 
to the police was false. No American friend clapped me on the 
back as I alighted there, nor did such a man exist at all. My 
walk with him to the Quai d’Orsay, our further stroll round the 
Place de la Concorde, his going by train to Orleans, and my walk 
home—all these were pure inventions on my part, made to ac¬ 
count for my time between eleven-fifteen and one. What really 
happened during this time was as follows: 

‘T changed at Chatelet, taking the Maillot train for Alma, and 
walked home down the Avenue. I must have reached my house 
about twenty minutes or a quarter to twelve. 

‘T took out my latchkey as I mounted the steps, and then I 
noticed that one of the slats of the Venetian blind of the drawing 


A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 305 

room window looking out towards the porch had caught up at one 
end, and a long, thin, triangular block of light shone out into the 
night. It was just on the level of my eyes and involuntarily I 
glanced through. What I saw inside stiffened me suddenly and I 
stood looking. In an arm-chair in the farther part of the room 
sat my wife, and bending closely over her, with his back towards 
me, was Felix. They were alone, and, as I watched, a plan 
entered my mind, and I stood transfixed with my pulses throbbing. 
Was there something between my wife and Felix? And if not, 
would it not suit my purpose to assume there was? I continued 
looking in and presently Felix rose to his feet and they began 
talking earnestly, Felix gesticulating freely, as was his habit. 
Then my wife left the room, returning in a few moments and 
handing him a small object. I was too far off to see what it was, 
but it seemed like a roll of banknotes. Felix put it carefully in 
his pocket and then they turned and walked towards the hall. 
In a few seconds the door opened and I shrank down into the 
shadows below the window sill. 

“ ‘Oh, Leon,’ I heard my wife’s voice, and it seemed charged 
with emotion. ‘Oh, Leon, how good you are! How glad I am 
you have been able to do this!’ 

“Felix’s voice showed that he also was moved. 

“ ‘Dear lady, is not such happiness to me? You know I am 
always at your service.’ 

“He moved down the steps. 

“ ‘You’ll write?’ 

“ ‘Immediately,” he answered, and was gone. 

“As the door closed, a furious passion of hate burned up in me 
for this woman who had ruined my life—^who had not only ruined 
it, but who was still blocking out any chance of happiness I might 
have had. And also I furiously and jealously hated Felix for 
being the cause, however innocent, of my loss. And then sud¬ 
denly I felt as if—perhaps I should say I felt that—a devil had 
entered and taken possession of me. I became deadly cold and I 
had the strange feeling that I myself was not really there, but that 
I was watching some one else. I slipped out my key, noiselessly 
opened the door, and followed my wife into the drawing-room. 
Her calm, nonchalant walk across the room roused me to still 
wilder fury. How well I knew her every motion. This was the 


306 


THE CASK 


way she would have turned to greet me when I arrived from the 
works, with cold politeness—^when it might have been so dif¬ 
ferent. . . . 

“She reached her chair in the comer of the room and turned to 
sit down. As she did so she saw me. She gave a little scream. 

“ ‘Raoul, how you startled me,’ she cried. ‘Have you just 
arrived?’ 

“I threw off my hat and she saw my face. 

“ ‘Raoul,’ she cried again, ‘what’s the matter? Why do you 
look like that?’ 

“I stood and looked at her. Outwardly I was calm, inwardly 
my blood whirled like molten metal through my veins and my 
mind was a seething fire. 

“ ‘Nothing really,’ I said, and some one else seemed to be 
speaking in a voice I had never heard before, a hoarse, horrible 
voice. ‘Only a mere trifle. Only Madame entertaining her lover 
after her husband has come home.’ 

“She staggered back as if from a blow and collapsed into her 
chair, and turned her now pallid face to me. 

“‘Oh!’ she cried in a trembling, choking voice. ‘Raoul, it’s 
not true! It’s not true, Raoul, I swear it! Don’t you believe 
me, Raoul?’ 

“I stepped close to her. My hate swelled up in a blinding, 
numbing, overwhelming passion. It must have shown in my eyes, 
for a sudden fear leapt into hers. 

“She tried to scream, but her dry throat produced only a 
piteous little cry. Her face had grown ghastly. Drops of sweat 
grew on her brow. 

“I was close by her now. Instinctively my hands went out. I 
seemed to feel her slender neck between them, with my thumbs 
pressing. . . . She read my purpose, for a hideous terror shone 
in her eyes. Dimly I was conscious of her hands tearing at my 
face. . . . 

“I stopped. My brain was numb. I seemed to see myself 
from a great distance standing looking at her. She was dead. 
I hated her more than ever. I was glad to see her dead, to watch 
that horror still lingering in her eyes. And he? How I hated 
him, he who had lost me my love and spoilt my life. I would go 


A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 307 

now. I would follow him and I would kill him. Kill him as I had 
killed her. I stumbled blindly to find the door. 

^‘And then the devil that possessed me suggested another plan. 
He had wanted her. Well, he would get her. If he couldn’t have 
her alive, he could have the next best thing. He could have her 
dead.” 

M. Boirac paused. He had been speaking in a high-pitched 
voice and gesticulating as if overwhelmed with excitement. He 
seemed unconscious of his hearers, as if, carried away by his 
recollections, he was mentally living over again the awful scene, 
passing once more through the frenzy of that terrible time. 
Then after a few moments’ silence he pulled himself together and 
went on in a more normal tone. 

‘T determined to send the body to Felix, not only to satisfy my 
hate, but in the hope that his efforts to get rid of it would bring 
suspicion of the murder on him. Where, I wondered, could I get 
a receptacle in which to send it? And then it occurred to me 
that in the study adjoining was the cask that had just arrived 
with my statue. It was large, strongly made and bound with 
iron. It would suit my purpose admirably. 

‘T crossed to the study and unpacked the group. Then quite 
coolly I carried the body in and placed it in the cask. The idea 
that I must divert suspicion from myself grew in my mind, and I 
therefore took off my wife’s evening shoes as their presence would 
tend to show she had not left the house. I filled up the cask with 
sawdust, ramming it tight. The body being so much larger than 
the group, there was a lot of sawdust over. This I swept up 
with the clothes brush from the hall and put in a handbag, which 
I locked. Finally I replaced the wooden top of the cask loosely 
as before, though still strongly enough not to come out if the cask 
was moved. When I had finished no one would have suspected 
that anything had been tampered with. 

“It was my intention to create the impression that my wife had 
gone av/ay with Felix. To this end two things appeared imme¬ 
diately necessary. Firstly, such of her outdoor clothes as she 
probably would have worn must disappear. I accordingly picked 
up the group and her shoes and went to her room. There I threw 
the shoes down carelessly before a chair, as if she had changed 
them. I took her fur coat, a hat, and a pair of walking shoes, 


308 


THE CASK 


and, with the group, carried them to my dressing-room. The 
only place I could think of for hiding them was in a couple of 
empty portmanteaux, so I packed the group in one and the 
clothes in another, carefully locking both. 

“The second point was to produce a letter purporting to be 
from my wife to myself, in which she would say she loved Felix 
and had gone away with him. I had not time to write one then, 
but for temporary purposes I put an old letter of my own into a 
new envelope, addressing it to myself as best I could in my wife’s 
hand. This I left on my desk. 

“I had already spent over three-quarters of an hour and it was 
nearly one. I took a final look round to see that nothing had 
been forgotten, and was just leaving the drawing-room when my 
eye caught a glint of light from the carpet immediately behind 
the chair in which my wife had died. I stepped over and saw it 
was a brooch which had evidently been torn from her dress during 
the struggle. I broke out into a cold sweat as I thought how 
nearly I had missed it, and realised that its discovery by some 
one else might have disproved my story and brought me to the 
scaffold. With no clear idea except to hide it, put it in my waist¬ 
coat pocket, took my hat, and, letting myself out, drew the door 
sharply behind me. After strolling as far as the Champs Elysees 
and back, I re-entered with my key. As I had hoped and in¬ 
tended, the shutting of the front door had been heard, and I 
found the butler obviously uneasy at my wife’s disappearance. 
I endeavoured to confirm his suspicions that she had gone away 
with Felix, and, as you know, completely succeeded. 

“Most of that night I spent in my study working out my plans. 
There was first of all the cask. A cask had been sent me by 
Dupierre, and it was obvious I must return them an empty one 
against it or I would give myself away. Where was this empty 
one to come from? 

“It was clear to me that I must get a precisely similar cask to 
return, and the only way I could do so would be to order another 
group, in the hope that it would be sent packed in the same way. 
But obviously I could not have this group sent to me. The idea 
then occurred to me that I must write in some imaginary name 
ordering the statue to be delivered at some place such as a station 


A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 309 

cloak-room, to be kept till called for. There I could get it with¬ 
out letting my identity become known. 

“But this plan did not please me. I was afraid the police 
would be able to trace me. I thought over it again, and then I 
saw that if I ordered it in Felix’s name it would meet the case. 
It would account for his getting the cask I was sending him, and 
he would not be believed when he denied ordering it. But I 
couldn’t give Felix’s name and address, for then he might get 
both casks, and I would be as badly fixed as ever. Finally I 
worked out the plan you know. I forged an order in Felix’s hand 
for the companion group to my own to be sent to Felix at an 
imaginary address, made a tracing of it, left the letter in Du- 
pierre’s letter-box on Monday night, telephoned them on Tuesday 
morning ascertaining by what route and train they were sending 
the group, went to London, met it and had it left in a shed there, 
all as you must have learnt.” 

“A moment, please,” interrupted La Touche. “You are going 
a little too quickly for me. You say you made a tracing of your 
forged order for the companion group and left the letter in Du- 
pierre’s letter-box. I don’t quite understand that.” 

“Oh, you hadn’t found that out, had you not? I will explain. 
I was in Paris, you see, when I forged the letter. But Dupierre 
must believe it came to him from London, or his suspicions would 
be aroused. I met the difficulty by sticking on the envelope a 
cancelled stamp from a letter I had received from London, copy¬ 
ing the remainder of the postmark with a little lampblack. Then I 
went down to Crenelle in the middle of Monday night and 
dropped the letter into Dupierre’s box. He would find it next 
morning all correct with its English stamp, cancelled in a London 
office.” 

In spite of their bathing for this callous and cynical criminal. 
La Touche and Mallet could not but be impressed by the clever¬ 
ness of the trick. All the detectives concerned had argued that 
as the order for the statue had been received apparently from 
London on Tuesday, it must have been posted there on Monday, 
and that as Felix was there and Boirac in Paris, the former must 
have posted it. But how simply they had been duped! Truly, 
thought the detectives with unwilling admiration, Boirac had 
deserved to succeed. 


310 


THE CASK 


“But the tracing?” persisted La Touche. 

“I thought that not only must Dupierre believe the letter came 
from London, but some definite proof that Felix had written it 
must be provided. I did it in this way. After I had written the 
letter I made a careful tracing of it on a bit of tracing paper. 
As you probably know, I visited St. Malo when in London, and 
there, with Felix’s pen and ink, I retraced over the writing and 
blotted it. This gave the impression.” 

Again his hearers had to admit a rueful admiration for the 
ingenious ruse. The finding of the impression had seemed so 
conclusive, and—it was only a trick. And what a simple trick 
—when you knew it! 

“That is quite clear, thank you,” said La Touche. 

“I met the cask in London and brought it to the shed,” went 
on the manufacturer. “There, after dismissing the carter, I 
opened the cask, took out the statue, packed it in a portmanteau 
I had with me, took the label off the cask and put it carefully in 
my pocket, replacing it with one addressed to Jacques de Belleville 
at the Gare du Nord. As you know, this Jacques de Belleville 
was myself. 

“As you found Dubois, the carter, you will have learnt the 
method by which I exchanged the casks, sending that containing 
the body from my house to Felix, while the other, which I had 
emptied in London, went back to Dupierre. You understand that 
part of it?” 

“Perfectly.” 

“So much then for the getting of the body to Felix. But it 
was my desire not only to give him the shock of opening the cask 
and discovering it; I wished also to make the police suspicious so 
that he would be watched and his attempts to get rid of the corpse 
discovered. In this case I intended he should be charged with 
the murder, incidentally clearing me. To ensure this result I set 
myself to construct such evidence as would weave a net round him 
from which he would be unable to escape. Gradually the details 
of my plan arranged themselves in my mind. 

“Firstly, it was necessary that I should really have the letter 
of farewell, the envelope of which I had prepared, and which I 
had pretended to find on going to my study. Collecting a number 
of specimens of my wife’s handwriting from her davenport, I 


311 


A DRAMATIC D£N0UEMENT 

forged the letter I showed to the French police. Putting it away 
for future use, I burnt the specimens to prevent them from being 
compared with the forgery. 

“The problem of getting Felix to meet the cask which I in¬ 
tended to send him, and while doing so to attract the attention 
of the police, then occupied my thoughts. After much considera¬ 
tion I decided on the plan you know. It happened that some 
three weeks previously I had been seated in the Cafe Toisson 
d’Or, when a bad neuralgic headache had come on, and I had 
moved into an alcove to be as private as possible. While there I 
had seen Felix come in and begin talking to a group of men. I 
had not made myself known, as I was in considerable pain, but 
I had overheard their conversation and learnt the arrangement 
Felix and his friend Le Gautier had made about the lottery. This 
I now decided to use, and I drafted a letter to Felix purporting 
to come from Le Gautier, mentioning this matter of the lottery to 
make it seem genuine. I also drafted a slip about money I in¬ 
tended to send in the cask. The contents of this letter and slip 
you know. These I put away in my pocket-book, to be used 
later. 

“The next evening, Monday, I pretended to unpack the cask. 
I brought the group I had taken out of it on the previous Satur¬ 
day from the portmanteau in which I had hidden it, and placed 
it on the table in my study. On the floor, about the cask, I 
sprinkled some of the sawdust from the handbag. By this 
manoeuvre I hoped if suspicion arose it would be argued that as 
the cask was not unpacked till Monday night, the body could not 
have been put into it on the night of the dinner. As you know, 
this ruse also succeeded. I also took the label off the cask and 
put it in my pocket. 

“Opening the cask again, I put in £52 10s. in English gold, to 
correspond with my slip. I hoped that, if the police got hold of 
the cask, they would assume that Felix had put in this money in 
order to strengthen his story that the cask had been sent to him. 
I put in sovereigns instead of French gold with the intention of 
making this theory more likely, as I hoped it would be argued 
that Felix in his agitation had overreached himself, and forgotten 
from what country the cask was supposed to be coming. 

“Calling Frangois, I told him I had unpacked the statue, and 


312 


THE CASK 


when Messrs. Dupierre sent for the cask he was to give it to them. 
Then, informing him that I would be from home for a couple of 
nights, I left next morning by the early train for London. 

“On the Monday I had purchased a false beard and arranged 
to get myself up to resemble Felix, and I wore this disguise all 
the time till my return. I brought with me on the journey the 
portmanteau containing my wife’s clothes, and, on board the 
boat, from a quiet place on the lower deck, slipped these articles 
overboard without being observed. On arrival in London I 
arranged with a carting firm to carry about the cask on the next 
two days, as you already know. I then went out to St. Malo, 
Felix’s house, which I found after some judicious inquiries. A 
careful reconnoitre showed me it was unoccupied. I tried round 
the windows and had the luck to find one unhasped. Opening it, 
I crept into the huose and went to the study. There by the light 
of an electric torch I carefully inked over the tracing I had made 
of the forged letter ordering the cask, and blotted it on Felix’s 
pad. This, I felt sure, would be found, and would seem to prove 
that he had written the order. 

“I had foreseen that it would be argued that Felix must be 
innocent because not only would he have no motive to murder my 
wife, but also he would naturally be the last man in the world to 
do such a thing. It was necessary for me, therefore, to provide 
a motive. For this purpose I had written a letter purporting to 
be from a girl whom Felix had wronged. Having crumpled this 
letter I put it into the side pocket of one of Felix’s coats. I 
hoped this would be found, and that it would be argued that my 
wife had got hold of it and that there had been a quarrel which 
led to her death. Crumpling it was to suggest Felix had snatched 
it from her, thrust it into his pocket and forgotten it. 

“As I stood in the study a further idea idea occurred to me. I 
had thought of a use for a brooch that had dropped from my 
wife’s clothes. It had fallen just behind the chair she had been 
sitting in, and I thought if I placed it on the floor behind a chair 
in his room, it would suggest she had been murdered here. My 
eye fell on a chair with a low back, standing in front of a curtain, 
and I saw at once it would suit my purpose. I dropped the 
brooch behind it and it caught on the braid at the bottom of the 
curtain. There it was hidden from casual inspection by the chair, 


A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 313 

but I knew the police would not overlook it. I withdrew with¬ 
out disturbing anything or leaving traces, closed the window, and 
returned to the city. 

‘‘Such was my plot, and, but for your cleverness, it would have 
succeeded. Is there any other point on which you are not clear?” 

“Only one, I think,” answered La Touche. “You were heard 
to telephone on the Monday from the Cafe at Charenton to your 
butler and chief clerk. They received their messages on the 
Tuesday from Calais. How did you manage that?” 

“Easily. I never telephoned on Monday at all. I slipped a 
tiny wooden wedge into the instrument to prevent the hook rising 
when I lifted off the receiver. No call was therefore made on 
the exchange, though I went through the form of speaking. Any 
other point?” 

“I do not think so,” returned La Touche, who again could not 
but feel a kind of rueful admiration for this ingenious ruffian. 
“Your statement has been very complete.” 

“It is not quite complete,” M. Boirac resumed. “There are 
two more points of which I wish to speak. Read that.” 

He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to La Touche. 
Both men leaned a little forward to look. As they did so there 
was a slight click and the light went out. What sounded like 
Boirac’s chair was heard falling. 

“Hold the door!” yelled La Touche, springing to his feet and 
fumbling for his electric torch. Mallet leaped for the door, but, 
tripping over the chair, missed it. As La Touche flashed on his 
light they could see it closing. There was a low, mocking laugh. 
Then the door slammed and they heard the key turn in the lock. 
La Touche fired rapidly through the panels, but there was no 
sound from without. Then Mallet flung himself on the handle. 
But at his first touch it came off. The holes for the screws had 
been enlarged so that they had no hold. 

The door opened inwards, and presented to the imprisoned men 
a smooth, unbroken surface, with nothing on which to pull. To 
push it towards the hall was impossible, as it shut solidly against 
the frame. Their only hope seemed to split it, but as they gazed 
at its solid oak timbers this hope died. 

“The window,” cried La Touche, and they swung round. The 
sashes opened readily, but outside were shutters of steel plate. 


314 


THE CASK 


closely fastened. Both men shoved and prised with all their 
might. But Boirac had done his work well. They were immovable. 

As they stood panting and baffled, Mallet^s eye caught the 
switch of the electric light. It was off. He clicked it on. 
Though no answering flood of light poured down, he noticed 
something that interested him. 

“Your torch, La Touche!’^ he cried, and then he saw what it 
was. Tied to the switch was a length of fisherman’s gut. Prac¬ 
tically invisible, it passed down the wall and through a tiny hole 
in the floor. Any one pulling it from below would switch off the 
light. 

“I don’t understand,” said La Touche. “That means he had a 
confederate?” 

“No!” cried Mallet, who had been looking about with the 
torch. “See here!” 

He pointed to the chair Boirac had occupied and which now 
lay on its side on the floor. Fastened to the left arm was another 
end of gut which also entered a hole in the floor. 

“I bet those are connected!” 

Their curiosity temporarily overcame their fears. La Touche 
turned on the switch and Mallet, pulling the gut at the arm of 
the chair, heard it click off a'gain. 

“Ingenious devil,” he muttered. “It must go round pulleys 
under the floor. And now he has cut off the current at the 
meter.” 

“Come on. Mallet,” La Touche called. “Don’t waste time. 
We must get out of this.” 

Together they threw themselves on the door with all the weight 
of their shoulders. Again they tried, and again, but to no pur¬ 
pose. It was too strong. 

“What does it mean, do you think?” panted Mallet. 

“Gas, I expect. Perhaps charcoal.” 

“Any use shouting at the window?” 

“None. It’s too closely shuttered, and it only opens into a 
courtyard.” 

And then suddenly they perceived a faint odour which, in spite 
of their hardened nerves, turned their blood cold and set them 
working with ten times more furious energy at the door. It was 
a very slight smell of burning wood. 


A DRAMATIC DENOUEMENT 315 

‘^My God!'' cried Mallet, “he's set the house on fire!" 

It seemed impossible that any door could withstand so furious 
an onslaught. Had it opened outwards, hinges and lock must 
long since have given away, but the men could not make their 
strength tell. They worked till the sweat rolled in great drops 
down their foreheads. Meanwhile the smell increased. Smoke 
must be percolating into the room. 

“The torch here," cried La Touche suddenly. 

Taking his pistol, he fired a number of shots on the bolt of 
the lock. 

“Don’t use them all. How many have you?" 

“Two more." 

“Keep them." 

The lock seemed shattered, but still the door held. The men’s 
efforts were becoming frenzied when Mallet had an idea. Along 
the farther wall of the room stood a heavy, old-fashioned sofa. 

“Let’s use the couch as a battering-ram." 

The room was now thick with smoke, biting and gripping the 
men’s throats. Hampered by coughing and bad light, they could 
not work fast. But at last they got the couch across the room 
and planted end on to the door. Standing one at each side, they 
swung it back and then with all their strength drove it against 
the timber. A second time they drove, and a third, till at the 
fourth blow there was a sound of splitting wood, and the job 
was done. 

Or so they thought. A moment later they found their mistake. 
The right bottom panel only was gone. 

“The left panel! Then the bar between!" 

Though the men worked feverishly, their operations took time. 
The smoke was now increasing rapidly. And then suddenly La 
Touche heard a terrible, ominous sound. Crackling was begin¬ 
ning somewhere not far off. 

“We haven’t much time. Mallet," he gasped, as the sweat 
poured down his face. 

Desperately they drove the couch against the bar. Still it 
held. The terrible fear that the couch would come to pieces was 
in both their hearts. 

“The torch!” cried Mallet hoarsely. “Quick, or we're done!" 

Drawing his magazine pistol and holding it close to the door. 


316 


THE CASK 


he fired its full charge of seven shots at the vertical bar. La 
Touche instantly grasped his idea, and emptied his two remain¬ 
ing shots at the same place. The bar was thus perforated by a 
transverse line of nine holes. 

There was a singing in the men’s ears and a weight on their 
chests as, with the energy of despair, they literally hurled the 
heavy couch against the weakened bar. With a tearing sound it 
gave way. They could get through. 

“You for it, Mallet! Quick!” yelled La Touche, as he stag¬ 
gered drunkenly back. But there was no answer. Through the 
swirling clouds the detective could see his assistant lying motion¬ 
less. That last tremendous effort had finished him. 

La Touche’s own head was swimming. He could no longer 
think connectedly. Half unconsciously he pulled the other’s 
arms to the hole. Then, passing through, he turned to draw his 
confrere out. But the terrible roaring was swelling in his ears, 
the weight on his chest was growing insupportable, and a black 
darkness was coming down over him like a pall. Insensible, he 
collapsed, half in and half out of the doorway. 

As he fell there was a lurid flicker and a little dancing flame 
leaped lightly from the floor. 


CHAPTER XXX 


CONCLUSION 

When La Touche’s senses returned he found himself lying in the 
open air, with Farol, his other assistant, bending over him. His 
first thought was for his companion in misfortune. 

“Mallet?” he whispered feebly. 

“Safe,” answered Farol. “We got him out just in time.” 

“And Boirac?” 

“The police are after him.” 

La Touche lay still. He was badly shaken. But the fresh 
air rapidly revived him, and he was soon able to sit up. 

“Where am I?” he asked presently. 

“Just round the corner from Boirac’s. The firemen are at 
work.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

FaroFs story was short. It seemed that Boirac had returned 
home that afternoon about three. Shortly after, the detective 
had been surprised to observe a regular exodus of servants from 
the house. Cabs and taxis took away two men and four women, 
all with luggage. Lastly, about four o’clock, came Frangois, also 
with luggage, and with him Boirac. Frangois closed and locked 
the door, handing the key to his master. The two then shook 
hands and, stepping into separate vehicles, were driven away. It 
was evident the house was being closed for a considerable period. 

Farol, entering the taxi he kept in waiting, followed. They 
drove to the Gare St. Lazare, where the manufacturer dismissed 
his vehicle and entered the station. But instead of taking a 
ticket, he simply walked about the concourse and in a few 
minutes left by another door. Travelling by the Metro, he 
reached Alma Station, walked down the Avenue, and, with a 
hurried look round, re-entered the house. To Farol it was 
obvious that something was in the wind. He withdrew to some 
distance and watched. 


317 


318 


THE CASK 


His surprise at these strange proceedings was not lessened 
when he saw La Touche and Mallet drive up to the door and 
ring. He hurried forward to warn them, but before he could do 
so the door opened and they disappeared within. Growing more 
and more anxious, Farol waited till, after a considerable time, he 
saw Boirac leave the house alone. Now certain that something 
was wrong, he decided he must let the manufacturer go, while he 
telephoned his suspicions to the Surete. A car with some men 
was sent immediately, and they drove up to the door just as 
Farol returned to it on foot. Smoke was beginning to issue from 
the upper windows, and one man was sent for the fire brigade, 
while others attempted to break into the house. In this they 
succeeded only after considerable trouble. Through the smoke 
they saw La Touche’s body lying half in the hall and half in 
Frangois’s room. Only just in time they got the men out, the 
back of the hall being a sheet of flame before they reached the 
open air. 

“We better go to the Surete,” said La Touche, who, by this 
time, had practically recovered. 

Twenty minutes later M. Chauvet was in possession of the 
facts, and operations for the tracing of Boirac had begun. 

La Touche then confidentially told the Chief all that he had 
learnt about the mystery. M. Chauvet was utterly astounded, 
and chagrined beyond measure at the blunder he and his men had 
fallen into. 

“Clever devil! ” he exclaimed. “He knew that nothing but the 
absolute truth would put you off your guard. But we’ll get him, 
M. La Touche. He can’t get out of the city. By now, every 
route will be barred.” 

The Chief’s prophecy was fulfilled earlier than even he ex¬ 
pected. Only an hour later they had news. Evidently believing 
himself secure in the destruction of the only two men who, so far 
as he was aware, knew enough to convict him, Boirac, after set¬ 
ting the house on fire, had gone openly to his club. A detective 
who went there to make inquiries, found him calmly sitting 
smoking in the lounge. He had, it appeared, made a desperate 
effort to escape arrest, and attempted to shoot the officer. Then, 
seeing it was all up with him, he turned the revolver upon himself, 
and, before he could be stopped, shot himself through the head. 


CONCLUSION 319 

So perished one of the most callous and cold-blooded criminals 
of the century. 

In a curious maimer Felix received his reparation. Heppen- 
stall, who had learnt to respect and appreciate his client, engaged 
him to paint a portrait of his wife. While thus occupied the 
artist made the acquaintance of the K. C.’s daughter. The two 
young people promptly fell in love. Six months later they were 
quietly married, and, his bride bringing a not inconsiderable dot, 
Felix threw up his appointment and moved to a new St. Malo 
on the sunny shores of the Mediterranean. Here he divided his 
attention between his young wife and the painting of that master¬ 
piece which had so long remained an unattainable dream. 


JTHE END 







,1 


,,'V 



•irfyv 






i Wi 




IS] 


V. 





t ; 


'^•^3 


I .''-liii ipi^ 


-^v 


»’^ >1 


If* 






'■''fr^ 9K 


‘ . ■» 






rv 


i I 


r I 


VI] 


mw::^ 












" '1 








% 


( 




;«. •* 




M ( 


r 


i M 


Vi'* K 




ik 


« 


'm 


4r 


ii 


■* /. 






' •.* !. 

m K?.' 








'•3 ;• 




-• •*.' 




-."r*. 'rVI, 






• J 


. 


V * ’,•' '*'^V ' ■ - v \ ^ ' 




•*' / J 










ytrv 


r«»,‘ 


» (%. 


> V 




i (4 


. I 


• t' 




mm M 


‘•f /: 








i- 


r; • 


U.4' 










•;' •>''.‘.v 


•i'- 


g, 


,•■ :i 


A;. v^^.8',vV- ^ma 


. 4- 


’ I'lA ■' <''Viif ■'■ ;"’f : 'I'A 


I '''^' 


I 




nr;. 


. • 




■ ,.M ' » ;, 

y ' \ 






r-:' 


r ’ ■* '*** I 

J./»^ ' 


iT' /fyi -ii 

'■j. ' .' - 


a ^ \ 


•0 








I .»I 






j ?. 


X 


9t 




f. 




n- _, ,.. 

'■i‘:'5«7 


■ :,'v w 

.S^ 


V r 








y p*:. »r :<. 


«< 


, Y 




<> i 


r M 


M; \ 


V 




WB ]. .^ • • • ■, /o ' i'V;, i i.»,' ^'^■,;!i/'\^.l7 




•f'V 


T. 


I•*7 .'/ 


.. >■ 


X<i 


m 


6 


.^^r-r >. 


, s ■’ »• * 

'1 • 1 H ■ ' ^ ' 

' c#«^ i S* ' >1" 


* /• •' .«i/ 




iti 


’iVjAa 




• * .'*. - 

• ^ • ■*. • * 


■iwi,.. 




1'^; 




'!• , 'T-;V 




*.■/ . vf. 





























li 




■'' ■ J 

((• 0 






V • * 


r‘\ ■■'■ 

I* » 






> ^ 


'i. A , 




i 









- I 

' ^ 


'i 

•■:< 


t 1 


^ V 

i-'i.- t 


i ' 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS