The Cask/Chapter 27

night La Touche could not sleep. The atmosphere was sultry and tense. Great masses of blue-black clouds climbing the south-western sky seemed to promise a storm. The detective tossed from side to side, his body restless, his mind intently awake and active. And then an idea suddenly occurred to him.

He had been mentally reviewing the wording of the various advertisements Lefarge had inserted for the carter. These, he recollected, were all to the effect that a reward would be paid for information as to the identity of the carter who had delivered the cask at the rue Cardinet goods station. Who, he thought, in the nature of things could answer that? Only, so far as he could see, two people—the carter himself and the man who engaged him. No one else would know anything about the matter. Of these, obviously the latter was not going to give the affair away. Nor would the carter if the other paid him well or had some hold over him. This, thought La Touche, may be why these advertisements have all failed.

So far he had got when his illuminating idea struck him. The fault of these advertisements was that they had appealed to the wrong people. Instead of appealing to the carter, could his associates not be approached? Or rather his employer, for it was obvious that neither Boirac nor Felix could be his employer, except in the case of this one job. He jumped out of bed, turned on the light, and began to draft a circular letter.

“,” he wrote, “An innocent man is in danger of conviction on a murder charge for want of certain evidence. This could be supplied by a carter—a clean-shaven, sharp-featured man with white hair. If you have (or had last March) such a man in your employment, or know of such, I most earnestly beg you to advise me. I am a private detective, working on behalf of the accused man. I guarantee no harm to the carter. On the contrary, I am willing to pay all men who answer the description five francs if they will call on me here any evening between 8.00 and 10.00, as well as 500 francs to the man who can give me the information I require.”

Repeating the manœuvre he had employed in the case of the advertisement for Mlle. Lambert, La Touche did not add his own name and address. He signed the note Charles Epée, and headed it Hôtel d’Arles, rue de Lyon.

Next morning he took his draft to a manufactory of office supplies and arranged for copies to be made and posted to the managers of all the carting establishments in Paris, the envelopes being marked “confidential.” Then he went on to the rue de Lyon, and, in the name of Charles Epée, engaged a room at the Hôtel d’Arles.

Taking the Metro at the Place de la Bastille, he returned to the goods station in the rue Cardinet. There, after a considerable delay, he found his two friends, the porters who had unloaded the cask on that Thursday nearly two months before. Explaining that he expected the carter he was in search of to call at his hotel on some evening in the early future, he offered them five francs a day to sit in his room between 8.00 and 10.00 p.m. to identify the man, should he arrive. To this the porters willingly agreed. That evening they had their first meeting, but without success. No clean-shaven, white-haired, sharp-featured carters turned up.

When La Touche returned to his rue de La Fayette hotel he found a letter from Clifford. The police had made two discoveries. The first La Touche had realised they were bound to make sooner or later. They had learnt of Felix’s identity with the art school student who had been in love with the late Mme. Boirac, and of the short-lived engagement between the two. All the assistance which these facts gave the prosecution was therefore now at the disposal of the authorities.

The second piece of information was that Inspector Burnley had found the carter who had taken the cask from Waterloo on the Wednesday morning of the fateful week and delivered it at Charing Cross next morning, for, it seemed, both these jobs had been done by the same man.

It appeared that about 7.30 on the Tuesday evening of that week a dark, foreign-looking man with a pointed black beard had called at the office of Messrs. Johnson, the large carting agents in Waterloo Road, and had hired a dray and man for the two following days, as well as the use of an empty shed for the same period. He had instructed the carter to meet him at Waterloo Station at 10.00 next morning, Wednesday. There, on the arrival of the Southampton boat train, he had claimed the cask and had it loaded up on the dray, as was already known. The vehicle had been taken to the shed, where it had been left, the horse having been sent back to the stable. The black-bearded man had told the driver he might take the remainder of the day as a holiday, but that he wanted him to return on the following morning, Thursday, take the cask to Charing Cross, and there book it to Paris. He had handed him the amount of the freight as well as ten shillings for himself. Upon the man asking where in Paris the cask was to be sent, the other had told him he would leave it properly addressed. This he had done, for next morning the cask had a new label, bearing the name of Jaques de Belleville, Cloakroom, Gare du Nord. The carter had then left the black-bearded man in the shed with the cart and cask. Next morning he had booked the latter to Paris.

Asked if he could identify the black-bearded man, the carter said he believed he could. But he failed to do so. On being taken to see Felix, he stated the artist was like the dark foreigner, but he would not swear he was the same man.

This news interested La Touche greatly, and he sat smoking into the small hours seeing how far he could work these new facts into the theories of the crime which he and Clifford had discussed. If the prosecution were correct, Felix must have been the man who called at the cartage establishment at 7.30 on Tuesday evening. He would therefore have had undisputed possession of the cask from about 11.00 a.m. on the Wednesday until, say 7.00 on the following morning, and there were two obvious ways in which he could have put in the body. Either he could have procured another horse and taken the cask to St. Malo, where, in the privacy of the walled yard, he could have removed the statue and substituted the body, returning the cask to the shed by the same means, or he could have hidden the body in his two-seater and run it to the shed, making the exchange there. Unfortunately, La Touche saw, the facts he had just learnt would fit in only too well with the theory of Felix’s guilt.

On the other hand they supplied another period for which an alibi might be found for the artist—7.30 on the Tuesday night. But, remembering his own and Clifford’s researches into the manner in which Felix spent that week, La Touche was not hopeful of help here.

The detective then turned his thoughts to Clifford’s theory of Boirac’s guilt. And immediately he saw how the news crystallised the issue of the alibi. Up to the present the alibi had been considered as a whole, the portions which had been tested and those which had not, alike included. Generally speaking, it had been argued that if Boirac were in Paris and in Belgium during the fateful days, he could not have been in London. But now here was a direct issue between definite hours. At 7.30 on the Tuesday evening the bearded man was at Johnson’s in the Waterloo Road. At 2.30 that same day Boirac was at Charenton. La Touche looked up his Continental Bradshaw. A train arrived at Victoria at 7.10, which would just enable a traveller from Paris to reach the carting contractor’s at the hour named. But that train left Paris at 12.00 noon. Therefore it was utterly and absolutely out of the question that Boirac could be the man. But then there was the typewriter. …

La Touche was back on the horns of the old dilemma. If Boirac was guilty, how did he work the alibi? if innocent, why did he get rid of the typewriter? He almost writhed in his exasperation. But it only made him more determined than ever to reach a solution, cost him what it might of labour and trouble.

The next evening he set off to the Hôtel d’Arles in the rue de Lyon, to await with the goods yard porters the coming of sharp-featured carters with white hair.

A number of replies to his circular had come in. Some were merely negative, the recipients having written to say that no carter answering to the description was known to them. Others stated they knew men of the type required, mentioning names and addresses. La Touche made lists of these, determining to call on any who did not come to see him at the hotel.

While he was engaged in this work his first visitor was announced. This man was clean-shaven and white-haired, but the sharpness of his features was not much in evidence. The porters immediately gave the prearranged sign that this was not the man, and La Touche, handing him his five francs, bowed him out, at the same time noting him “Seen” on his list.

After he left came another and another, till before ten o’clock they had interviewed no less than fourteen men. All these more or less completely answered the description, but all the porters instantly negatived. The following evening eleven men called and the next four, with the same result.

On the third day there was another letter from Clifford. The lawyer wrote that he had been greatly struck by the intelligence of the carter who had carried about the cask in London. Surprised at so superior a man holding such a position, he had brought him to his house in the hope of learning his history. And there he had made a discovery of the highest importance, and which, he thought, would lead them direct to the end of their quest. The carter, John Hill, had been quite ready to tell his story, which was as follows: Until four years previously Hill had been a constable in the Metropolitan police. He had a good record, and, he had believed, a future. Then he had had an unfortunate difference with his superior officer. Hill did not give the particulars, but Clifford understood it was a private matter and concerned a girl. But it led to a row during hours of duty, in which Hill admitted having entirely forgotten himself. He had been dismissed, and, after a long and weary search, could find no better job than he now held.

“But,” wrote Clifford, “it’s an ill wind, etc. This curious history of Hill’s is the thing that will settle our case. He has been trained in observation, and he observed something about the man with the cask that will definitely settle his identity. When he was paying him he noticed on the back of the first joint of his right forefinger, a small scar as if from a burn. He says he is sure of this mark and could swear to it. I asked him had he told the police. He said not, that he didn’t love the police, and that he had answered what he had been asked and nothing more. When he understood I was acting against the police he volunteered the information, and I could see that he would be glad to give evidence that would upset their conclusions.”

Clifford had then done the obvious thing. He had gone to inspect Felix’s finger, and he had found there was no mark on it.

At first to La Touche this seemed the end of the case. This man’s evidence definitely proved Felix innocent. His next business would be to examine Boirac’s hand, and, if the mark was there, the matter was at an end.

But as he thought over it he saw that this was indeed far from being the fact. There was still the alibi. As long as that stood, a clever counsel would insist on Boirac’s innocence. To a jury the thing would be conclusive. And this ex-policeman’s evidence could be discredited. In fact, the very thing that had enabled them to get hold of it—the man’s dislike of the official force—would minimise its value. It would be argued that Hill had invented the scar to upset the police case. By itself, a jury might not accept this suggestion, but the alibi would give it weight, in fact, would make it the only acceptable theory.

However, the next step was clear. La Touche must see Boirac’s hand, and, if there was a scar, Hill must see it, too.

About eleven o’clock therefore, the detective hailed a taxi with an intelligent looking driver. Having reached the end of the rue Championnet he dismounted, explaining to the man what he wanted him to do. A few moments later found him once more seated in the window of the café, his eyes fixed on the Pump Construction office across the street. The taxi in accordance with orders, drove slowly about, ready to pick him up if required.

About quarter to twelve, Boirac came out and began walking slowly citywards. La Touche quietly followed, keeping at the other side of the street, the taxi hovering close behind. Then the detective 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 manœuvre 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 question.

Did these hours work in? On Tuesday, frankly, they did not. What about Wednesday? Could a man who was in London at 11.00 in the morning be in Brussels at 11.00 the same evening? La Touche got his Continental Bradshaw. Here it was. London depart 2.20 p.m.; Brussels arrive 10.25 p.m. That seemed all right. A traveller arriving by that train would reach the Hôtel Maximilian “about 11.00.” Then La Touche remembered that Boirac’s account of how he spent this day had not been substantiated. He had told Lefarge he had gone to his brother’s house at Malines, having forgotten that the latter was in Sweden. No confirmation of that statement was forthcoming. Neither the caretaker nor any one else had seen the manufacturer. La Touche was not long in coming to the conclusion he had never been there at all. No, he had crossed from London by the 2.20.

Then the detective recalled the telephone. A message had been sent by Boirac from one of the cafés in the old town, asking the hotel clerk to reserve a room. That call had been received about eight o’clock. But at eight o’clock Boirac was not in the old town. He was on his journey from London.

La Touche took up his Bradshaw again. Where would a traveller by the 2.20 p.m. from Charing Cross be at eight o’clock? And then like a flash he understood. The boat arrived at Ostend at 7.30 p.m. and the Brussels train did not leave until 8.40. He had telephoned from Ostend!

So that was it! A simple plan, but how ingenious! And then La Touche remembered that Lefarge had been quite unable to confirm the statement that Boirac had dined at the café in the Boulevard Anspach, or had been present at Les Troyens in the Théâtre de la Monnaie. No. He was on the right track at last.

The Wednesday was now accounted for, but there still remained the terrible difficulty of the Tuesday. What about the café at Charenton?

And then La Touche got another of his inspirations. He had solved the Wednesday telephone trick. Could that on Tuesday be explained in the same way?

He had already noted that a traveller by the train leaving Paris at 12.00 noon and arriving at Victoria at 7.10 could just reach Waterloo Road by 7.30. Thinking again over the point, he suddenly saw the significance of the hour of the call at the carting establishment. It was late. A man wishing to do business there would have gone earlier, had he been able. But this man was not able. He had only reached the city at 7.10.

He turned back to the telephone calls. Where, he asked himself with growing excitement, would a passenger by the 12.00 noon from Paris be at 2.30? And then he was dashed with disappointment. That train did not reach Calais till 3.31 p.m., and at 2.30 it must have been running at full speed somewhere between Abbeville and Boulogne. Boirac could not have telephoned from the train. Therefore he could not have travelled by it.

La Touche had hoped to find that, adopting the same manœuvre on each day, the manufacturer had telephoned from some station en route, presumably Calais. But that apparently was not so. At the same time, the detective could not but feel he was getting near the truth.

He looked at the time table again. The train in question reached Calais at 3.31 and the boat left at 3.45. That was a delay of 14 minutes. Would there be time, he wondered, to make two long-distance calls in 14 minutes? Hardly, he thought. He considered what he himself would do if confronted with Boirac’s problem.

And then suddenly he saw it. What could be more obvious than to go by an earlier train and to break the journey at Calais? How would this time table work?

If Boirac had done that he would have had over two and a half hours in Calais, which would have given him the opportunity he required. La Touche believed he had reached the solution at last.

But Boirac had been actually seen telephoning from Charenton. For a moment the detective’s spirits fell. But he felt he must be right so far. Some explanation of the difficulty would occur to him.

And it did. The waiter had believed Boirac was there on Monday. And he must have been! In some way he must have faked the telephoning. There could be nothing else for it.

Another point occurred to him. Surely, he thought, the telephone operator always mentions the name of the calling town in inter-urban calls? If Boirac had called up his office from Calais, would not the operator have said, “Calais wants you”? If so, how had the manufacturer been able to deceive his butler and chief clerk?

This was undoubtedly a difficulty. But he put it on one side as he began to think how this new theory could be tested.

First he would go again to the Charenton waiter and explain the importance of settling the day on which Boirac lunched. Perhaps the man would now be able to recall some circumstance which would make this clear. Next he would find out from François and Dufresne whether any phrase such as “Calais wants you” had been used by the telephone operator. This inquiry, he noted, must be made with great skill, so as to avoid rousing Boirac’s suspicions should either man repeat the conversation. From the telephone central at Calais, if not at Paris, he could doubtless find if calls were made from the former town to the latter at the hour in question, and he might also find that some one answering to the description of Boirac had made those calls. Finally, it might be possible at Ostend to get information about the Brussels call.

Inquiries on these points should reveal enough to either confirm or disprove his theory.

The next morning therefore saw La Touche again in the café at Charenton in conversation with the waiter.

“The point as to which day the gentleman was here has become important,” he explained, “and I shall hand you another twenty francs if you can settle it.”

The man was evidently anxious to earn the money. He thought earnestly for some time, but at last had to confess he could recall nothing fixing the date.

“Do you remember what he had to eat? Would that help you?” asked the detective.

The waiter shook his head after consideration.

“Or any little matter of a clean cloth or napkin or anything of that kind? No? Or any other person who was in at the same time, or to whom you may have spoken on the subject?”

Again the man shook his head. Then suddenly a look of satisfaction passed over his face.

“But yes, monsieur,” he said eagerly, “I remember now. What you have just asked me brings it to my mind. M. Pascot lunched also when the gentleman was here, and he noticed him and asked me if I knew who he was. M. Pascot may be able to tell us.”

“Who is M. Pascot?”

“The apothecary, monsieur. From a dozen doors up the street. He comes here sometimes when Madame goes shopping to Paris. If you like, monsieur, I will go with you to him and we can inquire.”

“I should be greatly obliged.”

A walk of a few yards brought them to the chemist’s shop. M. Pascot was a large, bald-headed man, with a high colour and a consequential manner.

“Good-day, M. Pascot,” the waiter greeted him deferentially. “This gentleman is a friend of mine, a detective, and he is engaged on an inquiry of much importance. You remember the man with the black beard who was lunching in the café the last day you were in? He was sitting at the little table in the alcove and then he began telephoning. You remember? You asked me who he was.”

“I remember,” rumbled the apothecary in a deep bass voice, “and what of him?”

“My friend here wants to find out what day he was at the café, and I thought perhaps you would be able to tell him?”

“And how should I be able to tell him?”

“Well, M. Pascot, you see it was on the same day that you were with us, and I thought maybe you would be able to fix that date, the day Madame was in Paris—you told me that.”

The pompous man seemed slightly annoyed, as if the waiter was taking a liberty in mentioning his personal concerns before a stranger. La Touche broke in with his smooth suavity.

“If, M. Pascot, you could do anything to help me, I should be more than grateful. I should explain to you that I am acting on behalf of an innocent man,” and he drew a pathetic picture of the evil case in which Felix found himself, ending up by delicately insinuating that a reward for suitable information was not out of the reckoning.

M. Pascot thawed.

“Permit me to consult Madame, monsieur,” he said, and with a bow he withdrew. In a few moments he reappeared.

“I can recollect the date now, monsieur. Madame had occasion to go to Paris to see her solicitor on business, and a note of the date was kept. It was Monday, the 29th of March last.”

“I cannot say, monsieur, how obliged I am to you,” said La Touche in heartfelt tones, and by a sort of legerdemain, of which both participants remained profoundly unconscious, a twenty-franc bill passed from hand to hand. La Touche was extraordinarily pleased. He had broken the alibi.

Leaving the apothecary and waiter bowing and smiling as a result of their douceurs, La Touche turned his steps to the pier and took a river steamer to the Pont de l’Alma. Walking up the Avenue, he rang at Boirac’s and was soon closeted with François in his little room.

“About that telephone message we were talking of the other day, M. François,” he remarked casually, when they had conversed on general subjects for some minutes, “I wasn’t quite certain where you said M. Boirac was speaking from. My first recollection was that you said Calais; then I wondered if it was not Charenton. I have to make a report on my proceedings and I would like to get it as correct as possible.”

The butler looked surprised and interested.

“It is curious, monsieur, that you should ask me that, for I don’t remember mentioning anything about it. I also thought at first it was Calais. I thought the operator said ‘Calais wants you,’ and I was surprised, for I did not know M. Boirac intended to leave Paris. But I was wrong, for when M. Boirac began to speak I asked him the direct question. ‘You are speaking from Calais?’ I said. ‘No,’ he answered, ‘from Charenton.’ I am sure now it was my mistake and that what I thought was Calais was really Charenton. I am not very quick and on the telephone these names sound very much alike. Strange your making the same mistake.”

“It is curious,” admitted La Touche, “almost like one of those extraordinary cases of thought transference you read of. However, I am obliged for your confirmation that it was Charenton,” and he diverted the conversation into other channels.

His next visit was to the Telephone Central. Here at first they were not keen to give him any information, but on producing his card and confidentially explaining his business to the head of the department, he obtained what he wanted. Inquiries were made from Calais by wire, and after a considerable delay he was informed that at 2.32 and 2.44 on the Tuesday in question calls were made on Paris. The demand came from the public call office and were for the following numbers: Passy 386 and Nord 745. When La Touche found from the directory that these numbers were those of M. Boirac’s house and office respectively, he could hardly refrain from laughing aloud.

“How, I wonder,” he thought, “did Lefarge neglect so obvious a check on the Charenton messages?” Then it occurred to him that probably only inter-urban calls were so noted.

The proof of his theory seemed so complete he did not think it necessary to make inquiries at Ostend. Indeed, he believed his task was at last accomplished, and he began to consider an immediate return to London.