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

once to M. Léon 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 transaction 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 expected, owing to the enclosure of money. I might perhaps mention 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.”

The young man paused, and Lefarge asked how the group was packed.

“In 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. Thévenet, I do not think we can get any further till it arrives. There would just be time for déjeuner. 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 comfortable 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 someone 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 want. 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 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 suppose 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 Grenelle works.”

“Did you know the driver?”

“Yes, monsieur, it was Jules Fouchard.”

“I suppose, monsieur,” Lefarge turned to the managing director, “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.”

“Now tell me,” continued Lefarge, “where was the cask between 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 Tuesday, the thirtieth