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

“Well, can you think of anyone who might be glad to give you annoyance? What about the men who were present when you discussed the lottery? Or anyone 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 anyone 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 communication 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 in the Boulevard Poissonière it opened and a middle-aged gentleman 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 business.

“Come in, monsieur,” said the other. “I have an appointment 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. Felix’s 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 to?”

“M. Léon Felix, of St. Malo, London.”

A look of interest passed over the stockbroker’s face.

“Léon 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 someone else.”

“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 Café Toisson d’Or, three weeks ago last Sunday, at which you were present.”

“He is right about the conversation, anyway. 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 stockbroker 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 Café 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 conversation, but none knew anything of the bet or the cask. Inquiries from the waiters at the Toisson d’Or likewise were without 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 1,000 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 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