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

can you give any proof of that? A mere matter of form, of course, but in justice to my employers I am bound to ask the question.”

An expression of surprise passed over the girl’s face.

“I really don’t know that I can,” she answered. “You see, I was not expecting to be asked such a question.”

It had occurred to La Touche that in spite of his precautions Boirac might have somehow discovered what he was engaged on, and sent this girl with a made up story. But her answer satisfied him. If she had been an impostor she would have come provided with proofs of her identity.

“Ah, well,” he rejoined with a smile, “I think I may safely take the risk. May I ask you another question? Was a new typewriter purchased while you were at the office?”

The surprise on the pleasant face deepened.

“Why, yes, monsieur, a No. 10 Remington.”

“And can you tell me just when?”

“Easily. I left the office on Monday, 5th April, and the new machine was sent three days earlier⁠—on Friday, the 2nd.”

Here was news indeed! La Touche was now in no doubt about following up the matter. He must get all the information possible out of this girl. And the need for secrecy would make him stick to diplomacy.

He smiled and bowed.

“You will forgive me, mademoiselle, but I had to satisfy myself you were the lady I wished to meet. I asked you these questions only to ensure that you knew the answers. And now I shall tell you who I am and what is the business at issue. But first, may I ask you to keep all I may tell you secret?”

His visitor looked more and more mystified as she replied:⁠—

“I promise, monsieur.”

“Then I may say that I am a private detective, employed on behalf of the typewriter company to investigate some very extraordinary⁠—I can only call them frauds, which have recently been taking place. In some way, which up to the present we have been unable to fathom, several of our machines have developed faults which, you understand, do not prevent them working, but which prevent them being quite satisfactory. The altering of tensions and the slight twisting of type to put them out of alignment are the kind of things I mean. We hardly like to suspect rival firms of practising these frauds to get our machines into disfavour, and yet it is hard to account for it otherwise. Now, we think that you can possibly give us some information, and I am authorised by my company to hand you one hundred francs if you will be kind enough to do so.”

The surprise had not left the girl’s face as she answered:⁠—

“I should have been very pleased, monsieur, to tell you all I knew without any payment, had I known anything to tell. But I am afraid I don’t.”

“I think, mademoiselle, you can help us if you will. May I ask you a few questions?”

“Certainly.”

“The first is, can you describe the machine you used prior to the purchase of the new one?”

“Yes, it was a No. 7 Remington.”

“I did not mean that,” answered La Touche, eagerly noting this information, “I knew that, of course, as it is this No. 7 machine I am inquiring about. What I meant to ask was, had it any special marks or peculiarities by which it could be distinguished from other No. 7’s?”

“Why, no, I don’t think so,” the girl answered thoughtfully. “And yet there were. The letter S on the S-key had got twisted round to the right and there were three scratches here”⁠—she indicated the side plate of an imaginary typewriter.

“You would then be able to identify the machine if you saw it again?”

“Yes, I certainly should.”

“Now, mademoiselle, had it any other peculiarities⁠—defective letters or alignment or anything of that kind?”

“No, nothing really bad. It was old and out of date, but quite good enough. M. Boirac, of course, thought otherwise, but I maintain my opinion.”

“What did M. Boirac say exactly?”

“He blamed me for it. But there wasn’t anything wrong, and if there had been it wasn’t my fault.”

“I am sure of that, mademoiselle. But perhaps you would tell me about it from the beginning?”

“There’s not much to tell. I had a big job to do⁠—typing a long specification of a pumping plant for the Argentine, and when I had finished I left it as usual on M. Boirac’s desk. A few minutes later he sent for me and asked how I came to put such an untidy document before him. I didn’t see anything wrong with it and I asked him what he complained of. He pointed out some very small defects⁠—principally uneven alignment, and one or two letters just a trifle blurred. You really would hardly have seen it. I said that wasn’t my fault, and that the machine wanted adjustment. He said I had been striking while the shift key was partly moved, but, M. Faneuil, I had been doing nothing of the kind. I told M. Boirac so, and he then apologised and said I must have a new machine. He telephoned there and then to the Remington people, and a No. 10 came that afternoon.”

“And what happened to the old No. 7?”

“The man that brought the new one took the old away.”

“And was that all that was said?”

“That was all, monsieur.”

“But, pardon me, I understood you left owing to some misunderstanding with M. Boirac?”

The girl shook her head.

“Oh, no,” she said, “nothing of the sort. M. Boirac told me the following Monday, that is, two days after the typewriter business, that he was reorganising his office and would do with a typist less. As I was the last arrival, I had to go. He said he wished to carry out the alterations immediately so that I might leave at once. He gave me a month’s salary instead of notice, and a good testimonial which I have here. We parted quite friends.”

The document read:⁠—

“I have pleasure in certifying that Mlle. Éloise Lambert was engaged as a stenographer and typist in the head office of