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

so to the Boulevard Arago. M. Lachaise received them at once and they stated their melancholy business, showing the photograph of the body. The avocat took it to the light and examined it earnestly. Then he returned it with a gesture of relief.

“Thank God,” he said at length, “it’s not she.”

“The body was clothed in a light pink evening dress, with several diamond rings on the fingers and a diamond comb in the hair.”

“It is not she at all. My wife had no pink dress, nor did she wear a diamond comb. Besides, she left here in an out-of-door walking dress and all her evening things were in her wardrobe.”

“It is conclusive,” said M. Lefarge, and with thanks and compliments they took their leave.

“I thought that would be no good,” said Lefarge, “but we must do what the Chief says.”

“Of course. Besides, you never know. Look here, old man,” he added, “I am tired after all. I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll get away to the hotel.”

“But, of course. Whatever you feel like. Let’s stroll to the end of the Boulevard. We can get the Metro across the street at the Avenue d’Orléans.”

They changed at Châtelet and, having arranged to meet next morning, the Inspector took the Maillot train for Concorde, while Lefarge went in the opposite direction to his home near the Place de la Bastille.

X 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 indicated that he was a man of culture and comparative wealth. He had gone, they were told, to his office in the rue Henri Quatre, and thither the two friends followed him. He was a man of about five-and-thirty, with jet black hair and a pale, hawk-like face, and his manner was nervous and alert.

“We have called, monsieur,” said Lefarge, when the detectives had introduced themselves, “at the instance of M. le Chef de la Sûreté, to ask your assistance in a small inquiry we are making. We want to trace the movements of a gentleman who is perhaps not unknown to you, a M. Léon Felix, of London.”

“Léon Felix? Why, of course I know him. And what has he been up to?”

“Nothing contrary to the law, monsieur,” returned Lefarge with a smile, “or, at least, we believe not. But unfortunately, in the course of another inquiry a point has arisen which makes it necessary for us to check some statements he has made about his recent actions. It is in this we want your help.”

“I don’t think I can tell you much about him, but any questions you ask I’ll try to answer.”

“Thank you, M. Le Gautier. Not to waste your time, then, I’ll begin without further preface. When did you last meet M. Felix?”

“Well, it happens I can tell you that, for I had a special reason to note the date.” He referred to a small pocket diary. “It was on Sunday the 14th of March, four weeks ago next Sunday.”

“And what was the special reason to which you refer?”

“This. On that day M. Felix and I made an arrangement to purchase coupons in the Government lotteries. He handed me 500 francs as his share, and I was to add another 500 francs and put the business through. Naturally I noted the transaction in my engagement book.”

“Can you tell me under what circumstances this arrangement came to be made?”

“Certainly. It was the result of an otherwise idle conversation on the lottery system, which took place that afternoon between a number of men, of whom I was one, at the Café Toisson d’Or, in the rue Royale. At the close of the discussion I said I would try my luck. I asked Felix to join me, and he did so.”

“And did you purchase the bonds?”

“I did. I wrote enclosing a cheque that same evening.”

“And I hope your speculation turned out successfully?”

M. Le Gautier smiled.

“Well, I can hardly tell you that, you know. The drawing will not be made till next Thursday.”

“Next Thursday? Then I can only hope you will have luck. Did you write M. Felix that you had actually moved in the matter?”

“No, I took it, that went without saying.”

“So that you have not communicated with M. Felix in any way since last Sunday three weeks?”

“That is so.”

“I see. Now, another point, M. Le Gautier. Are you acquainted with a M. Dumarchez, a stockbroker, whose office is in the Boulevard Poissonière?”

“I am. As a matter of fact he also was present at the discussion about the lotteries.”

“And since that discussion you made a certain bet with him?”

“A bet?” M. Le Gautier looked up sharply. “I don’t understand you. I made no bet.”

“Do you remember having a discussion with M. Dumarchez about criminals pitting their wits against the police?”

“No, I recollect nothing of the kind.”

“Are you prepared, monsieur, to say that no such conversation took place?”

“Certainly, I do say it. And I should very much like to know the purport of all these questions.”

“I am sorry, monsieur, for troubling you with them, and I can assure you they are not idle. The matter is a serious one, though I am not at liberty to explain it fully at present. But if you will bear with me I would like to ask one or two other things. Can you let me have the names of those present at the Toisson d’Or when the conversation about the lotteries took place?”

M. Le Gautier remained silent for some moments.

“I hardly think I can,” he said at last. “You see, there was quite a fair sized group. Besides Felix, Dumarchez, and myself, I can