The Cask, Freeman Wills Crofts [snow like ashes series .txt] 📗

“Well, don’t say anything for a moment. I believe they came out of the cask.”

“Out o’ the cask? Why, sir, ’oo would send sovereigns in a cask?”

“No one, I should have said; but how would they get among the sawdust if they didn’t come out through the crack with it?”

“That’s so,” said Harkness thoughtfully, continuing, “I tell you, Mr. Broughton, you say the word and I’ll open that crack a bit more and we’ll ’ave a look into the cask.”

The clerk recognised that this would be irregular, but his curiosity was keenly aroused and he hesitated.

“I’ll do it without leaving any mark that won’t be put down to the fall,” continued the tempter, and Broughton fell.

“I think we should know,” he replied. “This gold may have been stolen and inquiries should be made.”

The foreman smiled and disappeared, returning with a hammer and cold chisel. The broken piece at the end of the stave was entirely separated from the remainder by the crack, but was held in position by one of the iron rings. This piece Harkness with some difficulty drove upwards, thus widening the crack. As he did so, a little shower of sawdust fell out and the astonishment of the two men was not lessened when with it came a number of sovereigns, which went rolling here and there over the planks.

It happened that at the same moment the attention of the other men was concentrated on a quartet of casks which was being slung up through the hatches, the nervousness caused by the slip not having yet subsided. None of them therefore saw what had taken place, and Broughton and Harkness had picked up the coins before any of them turned round. Six sovereigns had come out, and the clerk added them to the five he already had, while he and his companion unostentatiously searched for others. Not finding any, they turned back to the cask deeply mystified.

“Open that crack a bit more,” said Broughton. “What do you think about it?”

“Blest if I know what to think,” replied the foreman. “We’re on to something mighty queer anyway. ’Old my cap under the crack till I prize out that there bit of wood altogether.”

With some difficulty the loose piece of the stave was hammered up, leaving a hole in the side of the barrel some six inches deep by nearly four wide. Half a capful of sawdust fell out, and the clerk added to it by clearing the broken edge of the wood. Then he placed the cap on the top of the cask and they eagerly felt through the sawdust.

“By Jehoshaphat!” whispered Harkness excitedly, “it’s just full of gold!”

It seemed to be so, indeed, for in it were no fewer than seven sovereigns.

“That’s eighteen in all,” said Broughton, in an awed tone, as he slipped them into his pocket. “If the whole cask’s full of them it must be worth thousands and thousands of pounds.”

They stood gazing at the prosaic looking barrel, outwardly remarkable only in its strong design and good finish, marvelling if beneath that commonplace exterior there was indeed hidden what to them seemed a fortune. Then Harkness crouched down and looked into the cask through the hole he had made. Hardly had he done so when he sprang back with a sudden oath.

“Look in there, Mr. Broughton!” he cried in a suppressed tone. “Look in there!”

Broughton stooped in turn and peered in. Then he also recoiled, for there, sticking up out of the sawdust, were the fingers of a hand.

“This is terrible,” he whispered, convinced at last they were in the presence of tragedy, and then he could have kicked himself for being such a fool.

“Why, it’s only a statue,” he cried.

“Statue?” replied Harkness sharply. “Statue? That ain’t no statue. That’s part of a dead body, that is. And don’t you make no mistake.”

“It’s too dark to see properly. Get a light, will you, till we make sure.”

When the foreman had procured a hand-lamp Broughton looked in again and speedily saw that his first impression was correct. The fingers were undoubtedly those of a woman’s hand, small, pointed, delicate, and bearing rings which glinted in the light.

“Clear away some more of the sawdust, Harkness,” said the young man as he stood up again. “We must find out all we can now.”

He held the cap as before, and the foreman carefully picked out with the cold chisel the sawdust surrounding the fingers. As its level lowered, the remainder of the hand and the wrist gradually became revealed. The sight of the whole only accentuated the first impression of dainty beauty and elegance.

Broughton emptied the cap on to the top of the cask. Three more sovereigns were found hidden in it, and these he pocketed with the others. Then he turned to reexamine the cask.

It was rather larger than the wine-barrels, being some three feet six high by nearly two feet six in diameter. As already mentioned, it was of unusually strong construction, the sides, as shown by the broken stave, being quite two inches thick. Owing possibly to the difficulty of bending such heavy stuff, it was more cylindrical than barrel shaped, the result being that the ends were unusually large, and this no doubt partly accounted for Harkness’s difficulty in upending it. In place of the usual thin metal bands, heavy iron rings clamped it together.

On one side was a card label, tacked round the edges and addressed in a foreign handwriting: “M. Léon Felix, 141 West Jubb Street, Tottenham Court Road, London, W, via Rouen and long sea,” with the words “Statuary only” printed with a rubber stamp. The label bore also the sender’s name: “Dupierre et Cie., Fabricants de la Sculpture Monumentale, Rue Provence, Rue de la Convention, Grenelle, Paris.” Stencilled in black letters on the woodwork was “Return to” in French, English, and German, and the name of the same firm. Broughton examined the label with care, in the half-unconscious hope of discovering something from the handwriting. In this he was disappointed,