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

that can throw more water than theirs. A test is held every year, and the last one took place on Wednesday. M. Boirac would naturally be interested, being head of a pump manufactory himself. He would go to the Test.”

“I’m afraid you would have lost your money, then, monsieur. He was away on Wednesday right enough, but I happen to know he went to Belgium.”

“Well,” said Lefarge, with a laugh, “I’m glad we didn’t bet, anyway. But,” he added, in a changed tone, “maybe I’m right after all. Maybe he went from Belgium to London, or vice versa. Was he long away?”

“He could not have done that, monsieur. He was only away two days, Wednesday and Thursday.”

“It ought to be a lesson to me. I’m always too ready to bet on an unsupported opinion,” and Lefarge led the conversation on to bets he had won and lost, till François excused himself to prepare for his master’s arrival.

Shortly after seven M. Boirac came in. He saw Lefarge at once.

“I don’t wish to trouble you after your journey, monsieur,” said the latter, “but some further points have arisen in this unhappy business, and I would be obliged if you could kindly give me an appointment at whatever time would suit you.”

“No time like the present. If you will excuse me for an hour till I change and get some dinner, I shall be at your service. You have dined, I suppose?”

“Yes, thank you. If, then, I may wait here for you, I would be glad to do so.”

“Then come into the study. You’ll perhaps find something to read in these bookcases.”

“I thank you, monsieur.”

The hands of the clock on the study chimneypiece were pointing to half-past eight when M. Boirac re-entered. Sinking into an easy-chair, he said:⁠—

“Now, monsieur, I am at your service.”

“The matter is a somewhat difficult one for me to approach, monsieur,” began Lefarge, “in case it might seem to you that we had suspicions which we do not really entertain. But, as a man of the world, you will recognise that the position of the husband in unhappy affairs such as this must inevitably be made clear. It is a matter of necessary routine. My chief, M. Chauvet, has therefore placed on me the purely formal, but extremely unpleasant duty of asking you some questions about your own movements since the unhappy event.”

“That’s rather roundabout. Do you mean that you suspect me of murdering my wife?”

“Certainly not, monsieur. It is simply that the movements of everyone in a case like this must be gone into. It is our ordinary routine, and we cannot consult our inclination in carrying it out.”

“Oh, well, go ahead. You must, of course, do your duty.”

“The information my Chief requires is a statement from you of how you passed your time from the night of the dinner-party until the evening of the following Thursday.”

M. Boirac looked distressed. He paused before replying, and then said in an altered tone:⁠—

“I don’t like to think of that time. I passed through a rather terrible experience. I think I was temporarily insane.”

“I still more regret that I must persevere in my question.”

“Oh, I will tell you. The seizure, or whatever it was, is over and I am myself again. What happened to me was this.

“From the Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, when I learnt that my wife had left me, I was in a kind of dream. My brain felt numb, and I had the curious feeling of existing in some way outside of and apart from myself. I went as usual to my office on Monday, returning home at my ordinary time in the evening. After dinner, in the hope of rousing myself, I unpacked the cask, but even that failed to excite my interest or lighten my depression. On the following morning, Tuesday, I again went to the office at my customary time, but after an hour of effort I found I could no longer concentrate my mind on my work. I felt that at all costs I must be alone so as to relax the strain of pretending nothing had happened. Still like a man in a dream, I left the office and, going down into the street, entered a Metro station. On the wall my eye caught sight of the notice, ‘Direction Vincennes,’ and it occurred to me that the Bois de Vincennes would be the very place for me to go. There I could walk without fear of meeting any of my acquaintances. I accordingly took the train there, and spent the morning pacing the more sequestered paths. The physical exercise helped me, but as I grew tired my mood changed. A great longing for human sympathy took possession of me, and I felt I must confide in someone, or go mad. I thought of my brother Armande, and felt sure I would get the sympathy I wanted from him. He lived not far from Malines, in Belgium, and I determined to go and see him at once. I lunched at a little café at Charenton, and from there telephoned to the office and to my house that I was going to Belgium for a couple of days. I instructed François to pack a handbag of necessaries and leave it immediately at the cloakroom at the Gare du Nord, where I should call for it. While sitting at lunch it occurred to me that if I went by the 4:05 p.m. train⁠—the first I could get⁠—I would not arrive at my destination till the middle of the night, so I decided I would wait till the evening train and see my brother the following day. Accordingly, I went for a long walk up the Seine, returning by a local train to the Gare du Lyon. I dined at a café in the Place de la Bastille, and finally went to the Gare du Nord, got my bag, and left by the 11:20 for Brussels. I slept well in the train and breakfasted in one of the cafés off the