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

“Martin, you put new life into me! God bless you for all you’re doing! Will you arrange it with him? But, wait a minute, can I afford it? Are his fees very high?”

“What can you afford?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Say a thousand pounds.”

“More than enough. I shall arrange it with him at once.”

The friends conversed for some minutes, and then a warder opened the door of the cell. Martin’s time was up. He left Felix cheered by the promise of a further visit, and with tears of thankfulness glistening in his eyes.

Determined to lose no time in completing his work, Martin returned direct to the offices of Messrs Clifford and Lewisham. But there the day’s work was over, and all but one or two junior clerks had already left. The doctor therefore made an appointment for the next day and, with a glow of righteous self-satisfaction, went home to tell his family what he had done.

On the following afternoon he again found himself in the solicitor’s office.

“Now,” said Mr. Clifford, when it had been definitely agreed that his firm was to take up the case, “I have to warn you that proceedings will be slow. First, the prosecution will make up their case⁠—get depositions of the evidence, you know, and so on⁠—and that will take time. We, of course, shall also immediately start work, but it is improbable we shall make much headway till we learn the full evidence against us. Additional time will therefore be required for the preparation of the defence. If Felix is returned for trial⁠—and I fear from what I have heard, he will be⁠—weeks and months will probably elapse before both sides are ready. You and I shall therefore require to exercise patience.”

“I can believe it,” muttered the doctor. “You lawyers take the devil of a time over everything.”

“We can’t cover our mistakes like you, so we have to be careful,” retorted the lawyer with his dry, wintry smile.

Martin smote his thigh.

“Ha! ha!” he laughed. “That’s good. You had me there. But I musn’t be wasting your time. There were some things you wanted to speak to me about?”

“Yes,” admitted Clifford, “a couple of points. Firstly, I propose to retain Heppenstall⁠—you know, Lucius Heppenstall, the K.C. He may want one or two juniors. I suppose that is all right?”

“Of course. You know what is best to be done.”

“The other point is that I want you to tell me everything you possibly can about Felix.”

“As a matter of fact,” returned Martin, “I can’t tell you very much. I was just thinking over what I knew of him, and I was amazed it was so little. We became acquainted about four years ago. Felix had just taken St. Malo, an empty house a couple of hundred yards from my own, and the first thing he did was to go and get pneumonia. I was called in, but the attack was bad, and for a time it was touch and go with him. However, he pulled through, and, during his convalescence, we became very good friends. When he came out of the hospital I invited him to my house for a week or two⁠—he had only a not very satisfactory housekeeper at St. Malo⁠—and the family took to him, till he became quite like one of ourselves. Since then he has been in and out like a pet dog. He dines quite often, and, in return, insists on taking the boys to the theatre, and the mater when she’ll go.”

“He lives quite alone, you say?”

“Quite, except for the housekeeper.”

“And you haven’t met any of his people?”

“None. I’ve never even heard of his people. I don’t think he has any. If he has, he never speaks of them.” Martin hesitated for a moment, then went on: “It may be my fancy, but it has struck me that he seems to avoid women, and the only cynical remarks I have heard him make have been at their expense. I have often wondered if he has had some love disappointment. But he has never hinted at such a thing.”

“How does he live?”

“He is an artist. He designs for some poster firm in the City, and he draws for the better-class magazines. I do not know if he has private means, but he seems to do well enough.”

“Do you know anything about this extraordinary business of the cask?”

“No, except this. On⁠—let me see, what night was it? Monday, I think⁠—yes, Monday, the 5th of April, a couple of friends turned in, and we wanted a rubber of bridge. I went round to St. Malo to see if Felix would make a fourth. That was about 8:30 o’clock. At first he hesitated, but afterwards he agreed to come. I went in and waited while he changed. The study fire had just been freshly lighted and the room, and indeed the whole house, was cold and cheerless. We played bridge till nearly one. The next thing we heard was that he was in St. Thomas’s Hospital, prostrated from a mental shock. Not professionally, but as a friend, I went to see him, and then he told me about the cask.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“He said he had had a letter saying a cask of money was being sent him⁠—he will tell you the details himself⁠—and that he had just got this cask from the steamer and brought it to St. Malo when I called on that Monday evening. The reason he hesitated about leaving home was that he was on tenterhooks to unpack the cask.”

“Why did he not tell you about it?”

“I asked him that, and he said he had had trouble with the steamer people about getting it away, and he did not want anyone to know where the cask was, lest it should get round to these steamer folk. But I would rather he would tell you about that himself.”

“I shall ask him, but I want to hear from you anything you know personally about it.”

“Well, there is nothing more than that.”

“Can you