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

break with it. She agreed with me, saying he should not be helped until this breach had actually been made. We then discussed where the money was to come from. She, it appeared, could lay her hands on only £300, and, as she felt M. Boirac would disapprove, she did not wish to ask him for the remainder. She therefore proposed to sell a couple of her jewels⁠—her own private property⁠—and she asked me to undertake the matter for her. But I could not bring myself to agree to this, and I said that if she would advance the £300 she had, I would find the balance. At first she would not hear of it, and we had quite a heated argument. Finally I carried my point, and she went upstairs and brought down the money. I took my leave immediately afterwards, promising to let her know how the matter ended. She was much affected, for she was sincerely attached to him. The next day, Sunday, I returned to London.”

“I think you said, Mr. Felix,” interrupted Clifford, “that the last of the guests left at eleven?”

“Yes, about then.”

“And at what time did you yourself leave?”

“About quarter to twelve.”

“Then your conversation lasted about three-quarters of an hour. Now, did anyone see you leave?”

“No one except Annette. She came to the door with me.”

“You returned to your hotel, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“At what hour did you reach it?”

“About half-past one, I should say.”

“From Madame’s house to the Hotel Continental is about fifteen minutes’ walk. What, then, did you do in the interval?”

“I felt wakeful, and thought a stroll would be pleasant. I walked across Paris; to the Place de la Bastille by the rue de Rivoli, and back to the hotel by the Grands Boulevards.”

“Did you meet anyone you knew?”

“No, not that I can recall.”

“I am afraid this is important, Mr. Felix. Think again. Is there no one that could testify to meeting you on this walk? No waiter or other official, for example?”

“No,” said Felix, after a pause, “I don’t think I spoke to a soul, and I certainly did not enter a café.”

“You say you returned to London next day. Did you meet anyone on the journey you knew?”

“Yes, but it will be no help to me. I met Miss Gladys Devine on the Folkestone boat. But she cannot confirm this. As you must know, she died suddenly a week later.”

“Miss Gladys Devine? Not the celebrated Miss Devine, the actress?”

“The same. I have met her at supper parties in Paris.”

“But you must be able to get confirmation of that? So well known a lady would be recognised wherever she went. But perhaps you visited her private cabin?”

“No, I saw her on the boat deck. She was sitting in the shelter of one of the funnels. I joined her for about half an hour.”

“But somebody must have seen you?”

“Possibly, but possibly not. You see, it was horribly rough. Almost everyone was sick. People, anyway, weren’t walking about.”

“What about her maids?”

“I did not see them.”

“Now, Mr. Felix, what you must think over when I leave you is, first, what evidence can we get confirming your statement of how you spent your time between 11:00 and 1:30 on the Saturday night? and second, who saw you with Miss Devine on the Folkestone boat? In the meantime, please continue your statement.”

“Bonchose met me at Charing Cross. He was keen to know how I had fared. We drove to his rooms, where I told him the whole thing. I said I would hand him the £600 on condition he broke finally with his gambling friends. He assured me the breach had already been effected, and I therefore gave him the money. We then drove to the Savoy and, after a rather early dinner, I left him and went home.”

“At what hour?”

“About 8:30.”

“How did you go?”

“I took a taxi.”

“From where?”

“The Savoy commissionaire called it.”

“Yes?”

“The next thing was I received an astonishing letter,” and Felix went on to tell the lawyer about the typewritten letter signed “Le Gautier,” his preparations to obtain the cask, his visit to St. Katherine’s Docks, his interviews with the clerk, Broughton, and the manager of the dock office, his ruse to get the I. and C.’s notepaper, the forging of the letter to Harkness, the removal of the cask to St. Malo, his dining at Dr. Martin’s, the midnight interview with Burnley, the disappearance of the cask, its final recovery, its unpacking, and the discovery of its terrible contents. “That, Mr. Clifford,” he ended up, “is every single thing I know about the affair, good, bad, or indifferent.”

“I congratulate you on the clear way you have made your statement,” returned the solicitor. “Now, excuse me while I think if there is anything further I want to ask you.”

He slowly turned over the rather voluminous notes he had taken.

“The first point,” he went on at length, “is the question of your intimacy with Madame Boirac. Can you tell me how many times you saw her since her marriage?”

Felix considered.

“About half a dozen, I should say, or perhaps eight or even nine. Not more than nine certainly.”

“Excepting on the night of the dinner, was her husband present on all these occasions?”

“Not all. At least twice I called in the afternoon and saw her alone.”

“I think I need hardly ask you, but answer me fully all the same. Were there at any time any tender or confidential passages between you and Madame?”

“Absolutely none. I state most positively that nothing passed between us which Boirac might not have seen or heard.”

Again Clifford paused in thought.

“I want you now to tell me, and with the utmost detail, exactly how you spent the time between your leaving Bonchose after dinner on the Sunday night of your return from Paris, and your meeting the cask at St. Katherine’s Docks on the following Monday week.”

“I can do so easily. After leaving Bonchose I drove out to St. Malo, as I told you, arriving about 9:30. My housekeeper was on holidays, so I went straight over to Brent village and arranged