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

congratulated himself on his foresight, for, on Boirac’s reaching the end of the street, he hailed another taxi, and, getting in, was driven rapidly off.

It was the work of a couple of seconds for La Touche to leap into his car and to instruct his driver to follow the other vehicle.

The chase led down to the Grands Boulevards to Bellini’s in the Avenue de l’Opera. Here Boirac entered, followed by his shadower.

The great restaurant was about three parts full, and La Touche from the door was able to see Boirac taking his seat in one of the windows. The detective dropped into a place close to the cash desk, and, ordering table-d’hôte lunch, insisted on getting the bill at once, on the grounds that his time was limited and that he might have to leave before finishing. Then he ate a leisurely lunch, keeping an eye on the manufacturer.

That gentleman was in no hurry, and La Touche had spent a long time over his coffee before the other made a move. A number of people were leaving the restaurant and there was a very short queue at the cash desk. La Touche so arranged his departure that he was immediately behind Boirac in this queue. As the manufacturer put down his money La Touche saw his finger. The scar was there!

“Here at last is certainty,” thought the detective, as he drew back out of the other’s sight. “So Boirac is the man after all! My work is done!”

And then the annoying afterthought arose. Was his work done? Was the proof he had got of Boirac’s guilt sufficient? There was still the alibi. Always that alibi loomed in the background, menacing his success.

Though La Touche had now no doubt Boirac was the man the carter saw, he felt it would be more satisfactory if the two could be brought together in the hope of getting direct evidence of identity. As time was of value he called up Clifford and rapidly discussed the point. It was agreed that, if possible, Hill should be sent to Paris by that evening’s train. A couple of hours later there was a telegram from the solicitor that this had been arranged.

Accordingly, next morning La Touche met the English boat train at the Gare du Nord and welcomed a tall, dark man with a small, close-cut moustache. As they breakfasted, the detective explained what he wished done.

“The difficulty is that you must see Boirac without his seeing you,” he ended up, “we do not want him to know we are on his trail.”

“I understand that, sir,” returned Hill. “Have you any plan arranged for me?”

“Not exactly, but I thought if you were to make up with a false beard and wear glasses he wouldn’t spot you. You could dress differently also. Then I think you might lunch in the same restaurant and come out behind him and see his hand when he’s paying same as I did.”

“That would do, sir, but the worst of it is I don’t know my way about either in Paris or in a restaurant of that class.”

“You can’t speak any French?”

“Not a word, sir.”

“Then I think I had better ask my man, Mallet, to go with you. He could keep you straight, and you needn’t talk at all.”

Hill nodded his head.

“A good idea, sir.”

“Come, then, and let me get you a rig-out.”

They drove to shop after shop till the ex-policeman was supplied with new clothes from head to foot. Then they went to a theatrical property maker, where a flowing black beard and long moustache were fitted on. A pair of clear glass pince-nez completed the purchases. When, an hour later, Hill stood in La Touche’s room dressed up in his new disguise, no one who had known him before would have recognised the ex-policeman, still less the London carter.

“Capital, Hill,” said La Touche. “Your own mother wouldn’t know you.”

The detective had sent a wire for his assistant, and Mallet was waiting for them. La Touche introduced the two men and explained his plans.

“We haven’t much more than time,” said Mallet, “so if you’re ready, we’ll go on.”

In something under three hours they returned. The expedition had been a complete success. They had gone direct to Bellini’s, preferring to take the risk that the manufacturer did not lunch at the same place each day, rather than that of following him again. And they were not disappointed. Towards twelve, Boirac had entered and taken his seat at what was probably the same table in the window. On his rising to leave, they had repeated La Touche’s manoeuvre and Hill, just behind him when he was paying, had seen his finger. Instantly he had identified the scar. Indeed, before seeing it he had been sure from Boirac’s build and way of moving he was the man they sought.

In the evening, La Touche gave Hill a good dinner, paid him well, and saw him off by the night train to London. Then he returned to his hotel, lit a cigar, and lay down on his bed to wrestle again with the problem of the alibi.

He now knew that the alibi was faked. Boirac, beyond question, had been in London at 7:30 on the Tuesday evening. Therefore he could not have been at Charenton at 2:00. That was the ever-recurring difficulty, and he could see no way out.

He took a piece of paper and wrote down the hours at which they definitely knew the manufacturer’s whereabouts. At 7:30 on Tuesday evening he was in London at Johnson’s carting establishment in Waterloo Road. From 10:00 till 11:00 next morning, Wednesday, he was with Hill, getting the cask from Waterloo to the shed. He could not have left London in the interval, so this meant that he must have been in the English capital from 7:30 o’clock on Tuesday evening till 11:00 on Wednesday morning. Then he was at the Hôtel Maximilian in Brussels at 11:00 on that same Wednesday evening. So much was certain beyond doubt or