London Murder Mysteries - Boxed Set. Freeman Wills Crofts

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      ‘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 Rôget, but of him I’m not sure. There were a number of others also.’

      Felix answered the questions 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 considered 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.’

      ‘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 l’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?

      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:—

      ‘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.’

      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 be clarified? It certainly looked so. One thing at least seemed clear. If a corpse had been sent to Felix, he must know something 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.’

      ‘Thank you, Mr. Felix, I wanted you to make the suggestion. It is, as you say, the only way to settle the matter. I’ll call Sergeant Hastings here as a witness and we’ll 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, swinging 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

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      Astonished as Burnley was himself at this unexpected development, 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 questioned, but his anger and annoyance at losing his money were clearly heartfelt.

      ‘I 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.’

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