The Cask, Freeman Wills Crofts [snow like ashes series .txt] 📗
- Author: Freeman Wills Crofts
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The discussion was carried on for some time longer, various points of detail being more fully gone into. Finally, it was arranged that on the following morning Burnley and Lefarge should begin the tracing of Felix’s movements from the night of the dinner-party until he left French soil, after which Burnley would continue the quest alone, while Lefarge turned his attention to ascertaining Boirac’s movements during the crucial period.
XVIII Lefarge Hunts AloneAt 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 Lefarge, “but the fact is we find we require some more information about your recent visitor, M. Felix. If you can help us to obtain it, you will greatly add to our already large debt of gratitude.”
The manager bowed.
“I shall be delighted to tell you anything I can. What is the point in question?”
“We want to trace M. Felix’s movements after he left here. You have already told us he went to catch the 8:20 English boat train at the Gare du Nord. We wondered if he really did travel by it. Can you help us to find out?”
“Our bus meets all the incoming boat trains, but attends only those outward bound by which visitors are travelling. If you will pardon me a moment, I will ascertain if it ran that day. It was Sunday, I think?”
“Sunday, the 28th March.”
The manager was absent for a few moments, returning with a tall young man in the uniform of a porter.
“I find the bus did run on the day in question, and Karl, here, went with it. He may be able to answer your questions.”
“Thank you, monsieur.” Lefarge turned to the porter. “You went to the Gare du Nord on Sunday, the 28th March, with some passengers for the 8:20 English boat train?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“How many passengers had you?”
The porter considered.
“Three, monsieur,” he replied at length.
“Did you know who they were?”
“Two of them I knew, monsieur. One was M. Leblanc, a gentleman who had stayed in the hotel for over a month. The second was M. Felix, who has been a constant visitor for years. The third was an English gentleman, but I do not know his name.”
“Did these gentlemen converse together while in the bus?”
“I saw M. Felix speaking to the Englishman as they were leaving the bus, otherwise I cannot say.”
“Did they go by the 8:20?”
“Yes, monsieur. I put their luggage into the carriages, and I saw all three in the train as it was starting.”
“Was M. Felix alone?”
“He was, monsieur.”
“Did he meet or speak with a lady at the station?”
“I do not think so, monsieur. Certainly I did not see a lady.”
“Did he seem anxious or perturbed?”
“Not at all, monsieur. He was just as usual.”
“Thank you, I am exceedingly obliged.”
Some silver changed hands, and Karl withdrew.
“That is very satisfactory information, M. le Directeur. The only other point I want is the names and addresses of the two other occupants of the bus.”
These were ascertained with some slight difficulty—M. Guillaume Leblanc, rue Verte, Marseilles, and Mr. Henry Gordon, 327 Angus Lane, Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow—and the detectives bowed themselves out with compliments and thanks.
“That’s a piece of luck,” remarked Lefarge, as they drove towards the Gare du Nord. “Those men may have seen Felix at other stages of the journey, and we may be able to trace him the whole way.”
They spent the morning in the great station, interviewing ticket examiners and other officials, but without success. No one had seen either of the travellers.
“The boat is more likely,” observed Burnley. “If he is a constant traveller, some of the stewards will certainly know him.”
Taking the 4:00 p.m. train, they reached Bolougne as dusk was falling, and began their inquiries at the pier. Finding the Pas de Calais, which had made the run in which they were interested, would not leave till noon next day, they turned their steps to the local police station. There they saw the men who had been on duty when the boat left on the Sunday in question, but here again without getting any information. Then they went on board the steamer and sought the chief steward.
“I know that gentleman, yes,” he said when, after introducing themselves, Lefarge showed him Felix’s photograph. “He crosses frequently, once or twice a month, I should say. He is a M. Felix, but I cannot say where he lives, nor do I know anything else about him.”
“What we want to find out, monsieur, is when he last crossed. If you can tell us that, we shall be extremely obliged.”
The official considered.
“I am afraid I could hardly be sure of that. He crossed both ways fairly lately. I should say about ten days or a fortnight ago, but I’m not sure of the exact date.”
“We think he crossed on Sunday, the 28th March. Can you think of anything that would confirm whether it was this date?”
“No, I cannot. You see there would be nothing to record it. We could not now trace the ticket he held, and there is no way in which the identity of our passengers is ascertained and noted. Speaking from memory, I should say that the date you mention is about correct, but I could not be sure.”
“Is there anyone on
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