‘That’s all right, garçon. Here’s your five francs.’
‘A good beginning,’ thought the detective, as he left the café and, turning his back on the river, passed on up the street. There could be no doubt that Boirac really had lunched at Charenton as he said. It was true the waiter thought he had been there on Monday, whereas Boirac had said Tuesday, but the waiter was not certain, and, in any case, the mistake would be a very easy one to make. Besides, the point could be checked. He could find out from M. Boirac’s chief clerk and butler on what day they received their messages.
He walked to Charenton Station, and took a train to the Gare du Lyon. Hailing a taxi, he was driven to the end of the rue Championnet, the street in which was situated the pump factory of which M. Boirac was managing director. As he left the motor and began strolling down the footpath, he heard the clocks chiming the half-hour after eleven.
The pump factory had not a very long frontage on the street, but, glancing in through an open gateway, Lefarge saw that it stretched a long way back. At one side of the gate was a four-story block of buildings, the door of which bore the legend, ‘Bureau au Deuxième Étage.’ The detective strolled past with his head averted, looking round only to make sure there was no other entrance to the works.
Some fifty yards or more beyond the factory, on the opposite side of the street, there stood a café. Entering in a leisurely way, Lefarge seated himself at a small marble-topped table in the window, from where he had a good view of the office door and yard gate of the works. Ordering another bock, he drew a newspaper from his pocket and, leaning back in his chair, began to read. He held it carefully at such a level that he could keep an eye over it on the works entrance, while at any moment raising it by a slight and natural movement would screen him from observation from without. So, for a considerable time he sipped his bock and waited.
Several persons entered and left the works, but it was not till the detective had sat there nearly an hour and had consumed two more bocks, that he saw what he had hoped for. M. Boirac stepped out of the office door and, turning in the opposite direction, walked down the street towards the city. Lefarge waited for five minutes longer, then, slowly folding up his paper and lighting a cigarette, he left the café.
He strolled a hundred yards farther from the works, then crossed and turning, retraced his steps and passed in through the door from which the managing director had emerged. Handing in his private card, he asked for M. Boirac.
‘I’m sorry, monsieur,’ replied the clerk who had come forward, ‘but he has just gone out. I wonder you didn’t meet him.’
‘No,’ said Lefarge, ‘I must have missed him. But if his confidential clerk is in, perhaps he could see me instead? Is he here at present?’
‘I believe so, monsieur. If you will take a seat, I’ll inquire.’
In a few moments the clerk returned to say that M. Dufresne was in, and he was shown into the presence of a small, elderly man, who was evidently just about to leave for lunch.
‘I rather wanted to see M. Boirac himself, monsieur,’ said Lefarge, when the customary greetings had passed. ‘It is on a private matter, but I think I need hardly wait for M. Boirac, as you can probably tell me what I want to know, if you will be so kind. I am, monsieur, a detective officer from the Sûreté’—here he produced his official card—‘and my visit is in connection with some business about which we are in communication with M. Boirac. You will readily understand I am not at liberty to discuss its details, but in connection with it he called recently at the Sûreté and made a statement. There were, unfortunately, two points which he omitted to tell us and which we, not then understanding they were relevant, omitted to ask. The matter is in connection with his recent visit to Belgium, and the two points I wanted to ask him are, first, the hour he left the office here on that Tuesday, and second, the hour at which he telephoned to you from Charenton that he was making the journey. Perhaps you can tell me, or would you prefer I should wait and see M. Boirac himself?’
The chief clerk did not immediately reply, and Lefarge could see he was uncertain what line he should take. The detective therefore continued:—
‘Pray do not answer me if you feel the slightest hesitation. I can easily wait, if you would rather.’
This had the desired effect and the clerk answered:—
‘Certainly not, monsieur, if you do not wish to do so yourself. I can answer your questions, or at least one of them. The other I am not so sure of. I received the telephone message from M. Boirac from Charenton at about quarter before three. That I am sure of as I particularly noted the time. As to when M. Boirac left here that morning, I cannot be so definite. He asked me at nine o’clock to draft a rather difficult reply to a letter and to take it in to him when ready. It took me half an hour to compose, as several figures had to be got out to make the matter clear. I took it in at 9.30 and he had then gone.’
‘That was on the Tuesday, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, on the Tuesday.’
‘And it was on the Friday morning M. Boirac returned?’
‘That is so, monsieur.’
Lefarge rose.
‘A thousand thanks, monsieur. I am very grateful to you for saving me a long wait.’
He left the office and, walking to the Simplon station of the Metropolitaine, took the train for the centre of the town. He was pleased with his progress. As in the earlier stages of the inquiry, information was coming in rapidly. At first he was inclined to think he had already got enough to confirm the first portion of Boirac’s statement, then his training re-asserted itself, and he decided to go back to the house in the Avenue de l’Alma, and if possible get François’ corroboration. He therefore alighted at Châtelet and took the Maillot train to Alma, walking down the Avenue.
‘Ah, M. François,’ he began, when the butler opened the door. ‘Here I am back to trouble you again. Can you spare me a couple of minutes?’
‘Certainly, monsieur. Come in.’
They went to the same small sitting-room and Lefarge produced his Brazilian cigarettes.
‘How do you like them?’ he asked, as the butler helped himself. ‘Some people think they’re too strong, but they suit me down to the ground. Like strong whiffs, only without the cigar flavour. I won’t keep you a moment. It’s just about that bag of M. Boirac’s you took to the Gare du Nord last Tuesday. Tell me, were you followed to the station?’
‘Followed, monsieur? I? Why no, certainly not. At least not that I know of.’
‘Well, did you observe at the left luggage office a rather tall man, dressed in gray and with a red beard?’
‘No,’ he answered, ‘I saw no one answering to the description.’
‘At what hour did you leave the bag in?’
‘About 3.30, monsieur.’
Lefarge affected to consider.
‘Perhaps it’s my mistake,’ he said at last. ‘It was on Tuesday, wasn’t it?’
‘On Tuesday. Yes, monsieur.’
‘And M. Boirac sent his telephone call about two, did he not? I think he said about two.’
‘It was later, monsieur. It was nearer three. But, monsieur, you fill me with curiosity. How, if I may ask, did you know I took Monsieur’s bag to the station?’
‘He told me last night. He happened to mention he had unexpectedly gone to Belgium, and that you had taken his bag to the left luggage office.’
‘And the man with the red beard?’
Lefarge, having got his information, was not much troubled to justify his little ruse.
‘One of our detectives. He has been on a case of theft of valuable luggage. I wondered if you had seen him. By the way, did M. Boirac