The Cask - free ebook by Freeman Wills Crofts

THE CASK

by FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS Published for THE CRIME CLUB by COLLINS FORTY-EIGHT PALL MALL LONDON PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN COLLINS CLEAR-TYPE PRESS : LONDON AND GLASGOW COPYRIGHT PART I—LONDON CHAPTER I...

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A STRANGE CONSIGNMENT

Mr. Avery , managing director of the Insular and Continental Steam Navigation Company, had just arrived at his office. He glanced at his inward letters, ran his eye over his list of engagements for the day, and inspected the return of the movements of his Company’s steamers. Then, after spending a few moments in thought, he called his chief clerk, Wilcox. ‘I see the Bullfinch is in this morning from Rouen,’ he said. ‘I take it she’ll have that consignment of wines for Norton and Banks?’ ‘She has

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INSPECTOR BURNLEY ON THE TRACK

The immediate suggestion was, of course, that Harkness had had the cask moved to some other place for safety, and this they set themselves to find out. ‘Get hold of the gang that were unloading this hold,’ said the Inspector. Broughton darted off and brought up a stevedore’s foreman, from whom they learned that the forehold had been emptied some ten minutes earlier, the men having waited to complete it and then gone for dinner. ‘Where do they get their dinner? Can we get hold of them now?’ asked

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THE WATCHER ON THE WALL

At the same time that Inspector Burnley was interviewing Broughton and Harkness in his office, another series of events centring round the cask was in progress in a different part of London. Police Constable Z76, John Walker in private life, was a newly-joined member of the force. A young man of ideas and of promise, he took himself and his work seriously. He had ambitions, the chief of which was to become a detective officer, and he dreamed of the day when he would have climbed to the giddy emi

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A MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW

The constable paused in the lane and considered. Up to the present he felt he had done splendidly, and he congratulated himself on his luck. But his next step he did not see clearly at all. Should he find the nearest police station and advise the head constable, or should he telephone, or even go to Scotland Yard? Or more difficult still, should he remain where he was and look-out for fresh developments? He paused irresolutely for some fifteen minutes pondering the situation, and had almost made

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FELIX TELLS A STORY

‘I am a Frenchman, as you know,’ began Felix, ‘but I have lived in London for some years, and I run over to Paris frequently on both business and pleasure. About three weeks ago on one of these visits I dropped into the Café Toisson d’Or in the rue Royale, where I joined a group of acquaintances. The conversation turned on the French Government lotteries, and one of the men, a M. Le Gautier, who had been defending the system, said to me, “Why not join in a little flutter?” I refused at first, bu

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THE ART OF DETECTION

Astonished as Burnley was himself at this unexpected development, he did not forget to keep a keen watch on Felix. That the latter was genuinely amazed and dumbfounded he could not doubt. Not only was his surprise too obviously real to be questioned, but his anger and annoyance at losing his money were clearly heartfelt. ‘I locked it myself. I locked it myself,’ he kept on repeating. ‘It was there at eight o’clock, and who could get at it since then? Why, no one but myself knew about it. How cou

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THE CASK AT LAST

Inspector Burnley reached Scotland Yard, after dropping Constable Walker at his station with remarks which made the heart of that observer glow with triumph and conjured up pictures of the day when he, Inspector Walker, would be one of the Yard’s most skilled and trusted officers. During the run citywards Burnley had thought out his plan of campaign, and he began operations by taking Sergeant Hastings to his office and getting down the large scale map. ‘Look here, Hastings,’ he said, when he had

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THE OPENING OF THE CASK

It was getting on towards five when Inspector Burnley, like a giant refreshed with wine, emerged once more upon the street. Calling a taxi, he gave the address of St. Malo, Great North Road. ‘Now for friend Felix,’ he thought, as he lit a cigar. He was tired and he lay back on the cushions, enjoying the relaxation as the car slipped 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 kal

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M. LE CHEF DE LA SÛRETÉ

At 9.00 a.m. next morning the Continental express moved slowly out of Charing Cross station, bearing in the corner of a first-class smoking compartment, Inspector Burnley. The glorious weather of the past few days had not held, and the sky was clouded over, giving a promise of rain. The river showed dark and gloomy as they drew over it, and the houses on the south side had resumed their normal dull and grimy appearance. A gentle breeze blew from the south-west, and Burnley, who was a bad sailor,

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WHO WROTE THE LETTER?

At ten o’clock next morning Lefarge called for Burnley at the latter’s hotel in the rue Castiglione. ‘Now for M. Alphonse Le Gautier, the wine merchant,’ said the former as he hailed a taxi. A short drive brought them to the rue de Vallorbes, off the Avenue Friedland, and there they discovered that the gentleman they were in search of was no myth, but a creature of real flesh and blood. He occupied a flat on the first floor of a big corner house, and the spacious approach and elegant furnishing

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MM. DUPIERRE ET CIE.

The hands of the large clock at the Gare du Nord were pointing to three minutes before eight next morning as Inspector Burnley walked up the steps of the entrance. Lefarge was there before him and the two men greeted each other warmly. ‘I have a police box cart here,’ said Lefarge. ‘Give me your papers and we’ll have the cask out in a brace of shakes.’ Burnley handed them over and they went to the luggage bureau. Lefarge’s card had a magical effect, and in a very few minutes the sacking-covered

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AT THE GARE ST. LAZARE

The showrooms consisted of a small but luxuriously fitted up shop, containing many objects of excellence and value. M. Thévenet introduced the manager, M. Thomas, a young and capable looking man, who invited them into his office. He did not speak English, and Lefarge carried on the conversation. ‘These gentlemen,’ said M. Thévenet, ‘are making some inquiries about the sale of Le Mareschal’s group to Mr. Felix of London last week. I want you to tell them all you can, Thomas.’ The young man bowed.

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THE OWNER OF THE DRESS

When some time later the two friends met, Lefarge said:— ‘I saw the Chief, and he’s not very satisfied with the way things are going. None of those women have done anything with the clothes. He’s got a notion we ought to advertise and he wants us to go there at nine to-night and talk it over.’ Accordingly, at the hour named, they presented themselves at the office in the Sûreté. ‘Sit down, gentlemen,’ began the Chief. ‘I wanted to consult with you about this case. In our efforts to identify the

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M. BOIRAC MAKES A STATEMENT

‘My name and address you know,’ began M. Boirac. ‘In business I am the managing director of the Avrotte Pump Construction Co., whose works are situated off the rue Championnet, not far from the Omnibus Co.’s depot. I am fairly well off, and we lived comfortably, my wife going a good deal into society. ‘On Saturday, the 27th ult., this day fortnight, we had a dinner party at the Avenue de l’Alma. Our principal guest was the Spanish ambassador, at whose house my wife had visited when in Madrid the

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THE HOUSE IN THE AVENUE DE L’ALMA

Burnley and Lefarge took the tram along the quais and, dismounting at the Pont Alma, proceeded up the Avenue on foot. The house was a corner one fronting on the Avenue, but with the entrance in the side street. It was set a few feet back from the footpath, and was a Renaissance building of gray rubble masonry, with moulded architraves and enrichments of red sandstone and the usual mansard roof. The two men mounted the steps leading to the ornate porch. On their right were the windows of a large

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INSPECTOR BURNLEY UP AGAINST IT

At nine o’clock that evening the usual meeting was held in the Chief’s room at the Sûreté. ‘I also have had some news,’ said M. Chauvet, when he had heard Burnley’s and Lefarge’s reports. ‘I sent a man up to that pump manufactory and he found out enough to substantiate entirely Boirac’s statement of the hours at which he arrived there and left on the night of the accident. There is also a despatch from Scotland Yard. On receipt of Mr. Burnley’s wire immediate inquiries were made about the cask s

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A COUNCIL OF WAR

At nine that evening, Inspector Burnley knocked at the door of the Chief’s room in the Sûreté. Lefarge was already there, and, as Burnley sat down, M. Chauvet said:— ‘Lefarge is just going to tell his adventures. Now, Lefarge, if you please.’ ‘As arranged on Saturday,’ began the detective, ‘I went to Dijon yesterday and called on Mlle. Daudet in the rue Popeau. She seems a quiet, reliable girl, and, I think, truthful. She corroborated M. Boirac’s and the butler’s statements on every point, but a

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LEFARGE HUNTS ALONE

At nine o’clock next morning the two colleagues met at the hotel in the rue Castiglione. They had discussed their plan of campaign before separating the previous evening, and did not waste time getting to work. Calling a taxi, they drove once more to the Hotel Continental and asked for their old friend the manager. In a few minutes they were ushered into the presence of that urbane and smiling, but somewhat bored official. ‘We are exceedingly sorry to trouble you again, monsieur,’ apologised Lef

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THE TESTING OF AN ALIBI

The Seine was looking its best on the following morning, as Lefarge boarded an east-bound steamer at the Pont des Artes, behind the Louvre. The day was charming, the air having some of the warmth and colouring of summer, without having lost the clear freshness of spring. As the boat swung out into the current, the detective recalled the last occasion on which he had embarked at this same pier—that on which he and Burnley had gone downstream to Grenelle to call on M. Thévenet at the statuary work

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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

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A NEW POINT OF VIEW

Of the millions who unfolded their papers a few mornings after the events described in the last chapter, there were few but felt a thrill of excitement as their eyes fell on the headlines, ‘The Cask Mystery. Arrest of Léon Felix.’ Though by no means all the facts discovered by the police had become public, enough had leaked out to arouse a keen and general interest. The tragic circumstances of the case, no less than the baffling mystery in which it was shrouded, intrigued the popular imagination

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FELIX TELLS A SECOND STORY

The next day Mr. Clifford was occupied with various technical formalities, and in obtaining from the authorities such information as was then available about the case, and it was not till the following morning he set out to make the acquaintance of his client. He found him seated in his cell, his head on his hands, and an expression of deep gloom upon his face. The two men talked generalities for some time, and then the lawyer came to business. ‘Now, Mr. Felix,’ he said, ‘I want you please to te

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CLIFFORD GETS TO WORK

When Clifford had finished dinner that evening, he went to his study, and drawing a large arm-chair up to the fire, for the evenings were still cold, he lit a cigar and composed himself to master the details of his new case. To say that he was disappointed with Felix’s statement would not be to give a true indication of his state of mind. He was woefully chagrined. He had hoped and expected that his client would tell him something that would instantly indicate the line the defence should take, a

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MR. GEORGES LA TOUCHE

Some days later Mr. Clifford and Mr. Lucius Heppenstall, K.C.—who were close personal friends—dined together at the former’s residence, intending afterwards to have a long chat over the case. Mr. Heppenstall had returned from Denmark rather earlier than was expected, and had already studied the documents received from the prosecution, as well as Clifford’s notes of what he had learnt. The two men had together interviewed Felix and Bonchose and some other small inquiries had been made, the only p

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DISAPPOINTMENT

La Touche was a good traveller, and usually slept well on a night journey. But not always. It sometimes happened that the rhythmic rush and roar through the darkness stimulated rather than lulled his brain, and on such occasions, lying in the wagon-lits of some long-distance express, more than one illuminating idea had had its birth. To-night, as he sat in the corner of a first-class compartment in the Calais-Paris train, though outwardly a lounging and indolent figure, his mind was keenly alert

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A CLUE AT LAST

La Touche, having finished his report, put on his hat and sallied forth into the rue de la Fayette. He intended after posting his letter to cross to the south side and spend the evening with some friends. He was not in an agreeable frame of mind. The conclusion to which he was apparently being forced would be a disappointment to Clifford, and, if the theory of Boirac’s guilt broke down, he saw no better than the solicitor what defence remained. He sauntered slowly along the pavement, his mind br

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LA TOUCHE’S DILEMMA

That night La Touche could not sleep. The atmosphere was sultry and tense. Great masses of blue-black clouds climbing the south-western sky seemed to promise a storm. The detective tossed from side to side, his body restless, his mind intently awake and active. And then an idea suddenly occurred to him. He had been mentally reviewing the wording of the various advertisements Lefarge had inserted for the carter. These, he recollected, were all to the effect that a reward would be paid for informa

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THE UNRAVELLING OF THE WEB

When La Touche solved the problem of how Boirac had faked his alibi, his first impression was that his work was done. But, as had happened so often before, second thoughts showed him that this was hardly the case. Though he had established Boirac’s guilt to his own satisfaction, he doubted if he could prove it in court, and, indeed, the whole matter was still far from clear. He felt that if he could only find the carter who had brought the cask to the rue Cardinet he would reach certainty on at

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A DRAMATIC DÉNOUEMENT

Three days after the finding of the carter, Dubois, and La Touche’s discovery of what he believed was the true solution of the mystery, he received a letter which interested him considerably. It came by post to his hotel, and was as follows— ‘Rue St. Jean 1, ‘ Avenue De L’Alma ‘ 26th May, 1912 . ‘ Dear Monsieur ,—In connection with your calls here and inquiries into the death of my late mistress, I have just by accident hit on a pie

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CONCLUSION

When La Touche’s senses returned he found himself lying in the open air, with Farol, his other assistant, bending over him. His first thought was for his companion in misfortune. ‘Mallet?’ he whispered feebly. ‘Safe,’ answered Farol. ‘We got him out just in time.’ ‘And Boirac?’ ‘The police are after him.’ La Touche lay still. He was badly shaken. But the fresh air rapidly revived him, and he was soon able to sit up. ‘Where am I?’ he asked presently. ‘Just round the corner from Boirac’s. The fire

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