The Cask by Freeman Wills Crofts (feel good novels .txt) 📕

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 kaleidoscopic 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 watchdog, 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. Found 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 subordinate, and when Felix had got his hat and coat the three men walked up to the taxi.

“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 £1,000 would just enable him to meet a mortgage, which otherwise 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 something 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 suspicion, 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 comparatively 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. “I 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 steps and through other passages, until they emerged in a small open yard entirely surrounded by a high, window-pierced building. 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, “I’ve 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 disappeared.

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 presently, and then, in a lower tone, “I’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