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

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 explanation of M. Boirac of the presence of the cask was complete, and it had been confirmed by François. 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 Sûreté 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 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 everyone 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 chambermaid 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 Sûreté 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 Lemaître. 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, when Burnley had explained, in his somewhat halting French, what he wanted, “I 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, English, 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 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, anyway. Just one other question. What was in the cask?”

“It was invoiced Statuary, but of