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

day he made his report to M. Chauvet at the Sûreté. XX Some Damning Evidence

When Burnley left Lefarge on the pier at Boulogne, he felt as if he was losing a well-tried friend. Not only had the Frenchman, by his kindliness and cheerful companionship, made Burnley’s stay in the French capital a pleasant one, but his skill and judgment had been a real asset in the inquiry.

And how rapidly the inquiry had progressed! Never before could Burnley recall having obtained so much information on any case in so short a time. And though his work was by no means complete, he was yet within reasonable distance of the end.

After an uneventful crossing he reached Folkestone and immediately went to the police station. There he saw the men who had been on duty when the Pas de Calais had berthed on the Sunday in question. But his inquiries were without result. No one resembling either Felix or Mme. Boirac had been observed.

He next tried the Customs officials, the porters who had taken the luggage from the boat, and the staff at the Pier Station. No information was forthcoming.

“H’m. Means going to Glasgow, I suppose,” he thought and, turning into the telegraph office on the platform he sent a wire:⁠—

“Henry Gordon, 327 Angus Lane, Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow. Could you see me if I called at ten tomorrow. Reply Burnley, Scotland Yard.”

Then he set off to walk to the Town Station to catch the next train for London.

At New Scotland Yard he had an interview with his Chief, to whom he recounted the results of the consultation in the Sûreté, and his movements during the past two days, explaining that he proposed to go on to Glasgow that night if Mr. Gordon could see him the next morning. Then he went home for an hour’s rest. Ten o’clock saw him back at the Yard, where a telegram from Mr. Gordon was awaiting him. “Can see you tomorrow at the hour named.”

“So far, so good,” he thought, as he called a taxi and was driven to Euston, where he caught the 11:50 express for the north. He usually slept well in trains, and on this occasion he surpassed himself, only waking when the attendant came round half an hour before they were due in Glasgow.

A bath and breakfast at the Central Hotel made him feel fresh and fit as he sallied forth to keep his appointment in Angus Lane, Sauchiehall Street. Ten o’clock was chiming from the city towers as he pushed open the office door of No. 327, which bore the legend, “Mr. Henry Gordon, Wholesale Tea Merchant.” That gentleman was expecting him, and he was ushered into his private room without delay.

“Good morning, sir,” he began, as Mr. Gordon, a tall man with small, fair side whiskers, and two very keen blue eyes, rose to meet him. “I am an Inspector from Scotland Yard, and I have taken the liberty of making this appointment to ask your help in an inquiry in which I am engaged.”

Mr. Gordon bowed.

“Well, sir, and what do you wish me to do?”

“To answer a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“I shall be pleased if I am able.”

“Thank you. You were in Paris recently, I believe?”

“That is so.”

“And you stayed at the Hotel Continental?”

“I did.”

“Can you tell me what day you left to return to England?”

“Yes, it was Sunday, the 28th of March.”

“You drove, if I am not mistaken, from the hotel to the Gare du Nord in the hotel bus?”

“I did.”

“Now, Mr. Gordon, can you recollect what, if any, other persons travelled with you in the bus?”

The tea merchant did not immediately reply.

“I did not specially observe, Mr. Inspector. I am not sure that I can tell you.”

“My information, sir, is that three gentlemen travelled by that bus. You were one, and the man I am interested in was another. I am told that he conversed with you, or made at least one remark as you were leaving the bus at the station. Does this bring the circumstance to your mind?”

Mr. Gordon made a gesture of assent.

“You are correct. I recall the matter now, and the men too. One was small, stout, clean-shaven, and elderly, the other younger, with a black pointed beard and rather foppishly dressed. They were both French, I took it, but the black-bearded man spoke English excellently. He was talkative, but the other hadn’t much to say. Is it the bearded man you mean?”

For answer Burnley held out one of Felix’s photographs.

“Is that he?”

“Yes, that’s the man sure enough. I remember him perfectly now.”

“Did he travel with you to London?”

“He didn’t travel with me, but he got to London all right, for I saw him twice again, once on the boat and once as I was leaving the station at Charing Cross.”

Here was definite evidence anyway. Burnley congratulated himself and felt glad he had not delayed making this visit.

“Did he travel alone?”

“So far as I know. He certainly started alone from the hotel.”

“And he didn’t meet anyone en route that you saw?”

“When I saw him on the boat he was talking to a lady, but whether they were travelling together or merely chance acquaintances I couldn’t say.”

“Was this lady with him in London?”

“Not that I saw. He was talking to a man on the platform as I drove out. A tall young fellow, dark and rather good-looking.”

“Would you know this young man again if you saw him?”

“Yes, I think so. I got a good look at his face.”

“I should be obliged if you would describe him more fully.”

“He was about five feet eleven or six feet in height, rather thin and athletic looking. He had a pale complexion, was clean-shaven except for a small black moustache, and was rather French looking. He was dressed in some dark clothes, a brown overcoat, I fancy, but of that I’m not sure. I imagined he was meeting your friend, but I had really no definite reason to think so.”

“Now, the lady, Mr. Gordon. Can you describe her?”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t.