‘I wrote the letter in the round hand of a junior clerk, signing it “The I. and C. S. N. Co., Ltd., per” in the same hand, and “Avery” with an undecipherable initial in another kind of writing, and another “per,” and then two not very clear initials. I hoped in this way to mislead Harkness, if he happened to know the genuine signature.
‘It was my design to get Harkness away from the ship with the cask and my own men, when I hoped to find some way of giving him the slip. This I eventually did by instructing one of the men to clamour for a drink, and the other, a man named Watty, to refuse to leave the horse when I invited the party to a bar for some beer. On the plea of relieving Watty, I left Harkness and the other man drinking in the bar, and slipped away with Watty and the dray. Then he and I went back to the shed and I ran a coat of paint over the dray, restoring it to its original brown and painting out the fictitious name. In the evening we brought the dray home, timing ourselves to arrive here after dark, and unloaded the cask in one of the out-houses, where it now is.’
When Felix ceased speaking, the two men sat in silence for several minutes while Burnley turned the statement over in his mind. The sequence of events was unusual, but the story hung together, and, as he went over it in detail, he could see no reason why it should not, from Felix’s point of view, be true. If Felix believed his friend’s letter, as he appeared to, his actions were accounted for, and if the cask really contained a statue, the letter might explain the whole thing. On the other hand, if it held a corpse, the letter was a fraud, to which Felix might or might not be party.
Gradually, as he pondered, the matter shaped itself into three main considerations.
First, there was Felix’s general bearing and manner. The Inspector had a long and varied experience of men who told the truth and of men who lied, and all his instincts led him to believe this man. He was aware that such instincts are liable to error—he had himself erred on more than one occasion in the past—yet he could not overlook the fact that Felix’s bearing, as far as his impression went, was that of a sincere and honest man. Such a consideration would not be a decisive factor in his conclusion, but it would undoubtedly weigh.
Secondly, there was Felix’s account of his actions in London. Of the truth of this the Inspector had already received considerable independent testimony. He reviewed the chain of events and was surprised to find how few statements of Felix were unsupported. His first visit to the Bullfinch had been described in almost similar terms by Broughton and by Huston in the wharf office. His call at the Fenchurch Street office and the ruse by which he obtained the shipping company’s headed notepaper had been testified to by Mr. Avery and his chief clerk, Wilcox. His description of the letter he had written to Harkness was certainly accurate from the Inspector’s own knowledge. His account of the removal of the cask and the shaking off of Harkness was in agreement with the statement of the latter and finally, Felix’s description of the removal of the cask to its present resting place was fully corroborated by Constable Walker.
There was practically no part of the statement unsupported by outside evidence. In fact, Inspector Burnley could not recall any case where so much confirmation of a suspect’s story was forthcoming. Weighing the matter point by point, he came to the deliberate conclusion that he must unreservedly believe it.
So much for Felix’s actions in London. But there was a third point—his actions in Paris, culminating in the letter of his friend. The letter. That was the kernel of the nut. Was it really written under the circumstances described? Had Le Gautier written it? Was there even such a man as Le Gautier? All this, he thought, it should not be difficult to find out. He would get some more information from Felix and if necessary slip across to Paris and put the statements to the test. He broke the silence.
‘Who is M. Le Gautier?’
‘Junior partner in the firm of Le Gautier, Fils, wine merchants, in the rue Henri Quatre.’
‘And M. Dumarchez?’
‘A stockbroker.’
‘Can you give me his address?’
‘I don’t know his home address. His office is, I think, in the Boulevard Poissonière. But I could get you the address from M. Le Gautier.’
‘Please give me an account of your relations with these gentlemen.’
‘Well, I have known them both for years and we are good friends, but I cannot recall ever having had any money transactions with either until this matter of the lottery.’
‘The details of that mentioned in the letter are correct?’
‘Oh, perfectly.’
‘Can you remember where precisely the conversation about the lottery took place?’
‘It was in the ground floor room of the café, at the window to the right of the entrance, looking inwards.’
‘You say other gentlemen were present?’
‘Yes, a group of us were there and the conversation was general.’
‘Was your arrangement to enter the lottery heard by the group?’
‘Yes, we had quite a lot of good-natured chaff about it.’
‘And can you remember who were present?’
Mr. Felix hesitated.
‘I’m not sure that I can,’ he said at last. ‘The group was quite a casual one and I only joined it for a few moments. Le Gautier was there, of course, and a man called Daubigny, and Henri Boisson, and I think, Jaques Rôget, but of him I’m not sure. There were a number of others also.’
Felix answered the questions readily and the Inspector noted his replies. He felt inclined to believe the lottery business was genuine. At all events inquiries in Paris would speedily establish the point. But even if it was all true, that did not prove that Le Gautier had written the letter. A number of people had heard the conversation, and any one could have written it, even Felix himself. Ah, that was an idea! Could Felix be the writer? Was there any way of finding that out? The Inspector considered and then spoke again.
‘Have you the envelope this letter came in?’
‘Eh?’ said Felix, ‘the envelope? Why, no, I’m sure I haven’t. I never keep them.’
‘Or the card?’
Felix turned over the papers on his desk and rummaged in the drawers.
‘No,’ he answered, ‘I can’t find it. I must have destroyed it, too.’
There was then no proof that these communications had been received by Felix. On the other hand there was no reason to doubt it. The Inspector kept an open mind as he turned again to the letter.
It was typewritten on rather thin, matt surfaced paper and, though Burnley was not an expert, he believed the type was foreign. Some signs of wear were present which he thought might identify the typewriter. The n’s and the r’s were leaning slightly to the right, the t’s and the e’s were below alignment, and the l’s had lost the horizontal bar at the top of the down-stroke. He held the paper up to the light. The watermark was somewhat obscured by the type, but after a time he made it out. It was undoubtedly French paper. This, of course, would not weigh much, as Felix by his own statement, was frequently in Paris, but still it did weigh.
The Inspector read the letter again. It was divided into four paragraphs and he pondered each in turn. The first was about the lottery. He did not know much about French lotteries, but the statements made could at least be verified. With the help of the French police it would be easy to find out if any drawings and payments had recently been made, and he could surely get a list of the winners. A winner of 50,000 francs, living in or near Paris, should be easily traced.
The second and third paragraphs were about the bet and the sending of the cask. Burnley