At nine that evening, Inspector Burnley knocked at the door of the Chief’s room in the S?reté. Lefarge was already there, and, as Burnley sat down, M. Chauvet said:— ‘Lefarge is just going to tell his adventures. Now, Lefarge, if you please.’
‘As arranged on Saturday,’ began the detective, ‘I went to Dijon yesterday and called on Mlle. Daudet in the rue Popeau. She seems a quiet, reliable girl, and, I think, truthful. She corroborated M. Boirac’s and the butler’s statements on every point, but added three details they omitted. The first was that Mme. Boirac took a wide-brimmed hat, but no hatpins. This seemed to strike the girl as very strange, and I asked why. She said because the hat was useless without the pins, as it would not stay on. I suggested the lady must have been so hurried she forgot them, but the girl did not think that possible. She said it would have taken no appreciable time to get the pins, as they were stuck in the cushion at Madame’s hand, and that a lady would put in hatpins quite automatically and as a matter of habit. In fact, had they been forgotten, the loose feel of the hat, even in the slight air caused by descending the stairs, would have at once called attention to the omission. She could offer no explanation of the circumstance. The second detail was that Madame took no luggage—not even a handbag with immediate necessaries for the night. The third seems more important still. On the morning of the dinner-party Madame sent Suzanne to the Hotel Continental with a note for Felix. Felix came out and instructed her to tell Madame he had her note and would come.’
‘A curious point, that about the pins,’ said the Chief, and, after a few moments’ silence, he turned to Burnley and asked for his report. When this had been delivered and discussed he went on:—
‘I also have some news. There has been a telephone call from the manager of the Hotel Continental. He says it can be established beyond doubt that Felix returned to the hotel at 1.30 on Sunday morning. He was seen by the hall porter, the lift boy, and the chamber-maid, all of whom are agreed on the time. All three also agree that he was in a quite normal condition, except that he was in a specially good humour and seemed pleased about something. The manager points out, however, that he was habitually good-humoured, so that there may be nothing remarkable about this.’
M. Chauvet took some cigars from a drawer and, having selected one, passed the box to the others.
‘Help yourselves, gentlemen. It seems to me that at this stage we should stop and see just where we stand, what we have learnt, if we have any tenable theory, and what still remains to be done. I am sure each of us has already done this, but three minds are better together than separate. What do you say, Mr. Burnley?’
‘An excellent idea, monsieur,’ returned the Inspector, congratulating himself on his cogitations earlier in the day.
‘Perhaps you would tell us how you approached the problem, and we shall add our ideas as you go on?’
‘I started, monsieur, with the assumption that the murder was the central factor of the whole affair, and the other incidents merely parts of a design to get rid of the body and divert suspicion.’
‘I fancy we are all agreed there, eh, Lefarge?’
The Frenchman bowed, and Burnley continued:—
‘I thought then of the method of the murder. Strangulation is such a brutal way of killing that it seemed the work either of a maniac, or a man virtually mad from passion. Even then it would hardly have been used if other means had been available. From that I argued the crime must have been unpremeditated. If it had been planned, a weapon would have been provided.’
‘A good point, Mr. Burnley. I also had come to the same conclusion. Please continue.’
‘If this was so, it followed that some person, when alone with Mme. Boirac, had suddenly been overcome with absolute, blind passion. What, I asked myself, could have aroused this?
‘A love affair, causing hate or jealousy, naturally suggested itself, but I could not fit it in. Who could have felt these passions?
‘Considering Felix first, I did not see how he could experience either hate or jealousy against a woman who had eloped with him. It is true, a lover’s quarrel might have taken place, resulting in something approaching temporary hatred, but it was inconceivable this would be bitter enough to lead to such a climax. Jealousy, I did not believe could be aroused at all. It seemed to me that Felix would be the last man in the world to commit the crime.
‘Then it occurred to me that hate and jealousy would be just what one might expect to find in Boirac’s case. If he were guilty, the motive would be obvious. And then, when M. Lefarge discovered yesterday that a cask similar to that in which the body was found had been unpacked in Boirac’s study, I felt sure this was the solution. However, since hearing the explanation of the presence of that cask, I admit I am again in doubt.’
‘I agree with all you say, Mr. Burnley, except that we should remember that the passions of hate and jealousy could only arise in Boirac’s mind in a certain circumstance, namely, that he was aware his wife had eloped, or was about to elope, with Felix. If he were in ignorance of that, it is obvious he could have had no such feelings.’
‘That is so, sir. Yes, it would only be if he knew.’
‘And then, again, it would only be if he really loved his wife. If not, he might be vastly annoyed and upset, but not enough to throttle her in the blind passion we have spoken of. If they were not on good terms, or if there was some other woman in Boirac’s life, he might even view her action with delight, as a welcome relief, particularly as there were no children to complicate the question of a divorce.’ The Chief looked inquiringly at his companions.
‘I agree with that too, sir,’ said Burnley, answering the look.
‘And I, monsieur,’ added Lefarge.
‘So then, we have reached this point. If Boirac was in love with his wife, and if he knew she had eloped or was about to do so, he would have had a motive for the crime. Otherwise, we can suggest no motive at all, either for him, or Felix, or anybody else.’
‘Your last words, monsieur, open up possibilities,’ observed Lefarge. ‘Might it not have been some other person altogether? I do not see that we are limited to Felix or Boirac. What about Le Gautier, for instance, or some one we have not yet heard of?’
‘Quite so, Lefarge. That is undoubtedly a possibility. There are others, Fran?ois, the butler, for example, into whose actions we must inquire. The possibility of Madame’s having had some former lover must not be forgotten either. But I think we should make up our minds about these two men before we go farther afield.’
‘There is another point,’ resumed Burnley. ‘The medical evidence shows that only a short time can have elapsed between the time Madame left her house and the murder. We assume, on the hotel manager’s testimony, Felix went to London the morning after the dinner-party. If so, did Madame accompany him? If the former, it points to Felix, and if the latter, to Boirac.’
‘I think we can deduce that,’ said Lefarge.
‘And how?’
‘In this way, monsieur. Leave aside for a moment the question of the identity of the murderer, and consider how he got the body into the cask. This cask we have traced fairly well. It was packed in the showrooms in the Boulevard des Capucines, and in it was placed a statue. Then it travelled to Waterloo, and the evidence that it was not tampered with en route is overwhelming. Therefore the body was not in it when it arrived at Waterloo. Then, for twenty-two hours, it disappeared. It reappeared at Charing Cross, for it is too much to suppose there are really two casks in question, and travelled back to Paris, and again it is quite impossible that it could have been interfered with on the journey. At Paris it left the Gare du Nord at 5.20, and disappeared again, but it turned up at the State Railway goods station at 6.10 p.m. the same evening, and returned to London by long sea. On arrival in London it contained the body. It is certain the change was not made during any of the three journeys, therefore it must have been done during these disappearances in London or Paris.
‘Of these disappearances, take that in Paris first. It lasted fifty minutes, and, during that time, the cask was conveyed between the Gare du Nord and the rue Cardinet goods station on a horse cart. How long, monsieur, should that journey have taken?’
‘About fifty minutes, I should think,’ returned the Chief.
‘I thought so too. That is to say, the whole time of the disappearance is accounted for. We may reckon, also, it would take some considerable time to open, unpack, repack, and close the cask, and it seems to me it would have been utterly impossible for it to have both been opened and to have made that journey in the time. It made the journey, therefore it wasn’t opened. Therefore the body must have been put into it in London.’
‘Excellent, Lefarge. I believe you are right.’
‘There is a further point, monsieur. If my suggestion is correct, it definitely proves Madame Boirac went to London while alive, because her dead body obviously could not have been brought there. If we consider this in relation to the point about the medical evidence raised by Mr. Burnley, I think we shall be forced to conclude she crossed with Felix on Sunday.’
‘It certainly sounds probable.’
‘If she crossed with Felix, it seems almost certain that he is the guilty man. But there are a good many others things that point to Felix. Suppose for a moment he is guilty, and picture him faced with the question of how to dispose of the body. He wants a receptacle to remove it in. It suddenly occurs to him that only a few hours before he has seen the very thing. A cask for statuary. And, fortunately for him, he has not only seen it, but he has learned where to get a similar cask. What does he do? He proceeds to get that similar cask. He writes to the firm who use them, and he orders just such a piece of statuary as will ensure his getting the kind of cask he wants.’
‘What about the false address?’
‘Of that, monsieur, I cannot suggest the explanation, but I presume it was with some idea of covering his tracks.’
‘Please continue.’
‘I suggest then, that he got the cask on arrival in London, brought it to St. Malo, unpacked and probably destroyed the statue, packed the body, took the cask to Charing Cross and sent it to Paris, travelling over in the same train himself. In Paris he got a cart, and took it from the Gare du Nord to the rue Cardinet goods station, travelled back to London, and met the cask at St. Katherine’s Docks on the following Monday.’
‘But what was the object of all these journeys? If his purpose was to get rid of the body, why would he first get rid of it, and then arrange an elaborate scheme to bring it back again?’
‘I saw that difficulty, monsieur,’ admitted Lefarge, ‘and I cannot explain it, though I would suggest it was for the same purpose as the false address—in some way to divert suspicion. But more than that, monsieur. We have evidence that the black-bearded man who met the cask on its various journeys was like Felix. But we have so far found no other black-bearded man in the entire case. It seems to me, therefore, it must have been Felix.’
‘If M. Lefarge’s theory is correct,’ interposed Burnley, ‘the letter about the bet must have been written by Felix. In this case, could this letter and the journeys of the cask not have been devised with the ............