At nine o’clock next morning the two colleagues met at the hotel in the rue Castiglione. They had discussed their plan of campaign before separating the previous evening, and did not waste time getting to work. Calling a taxi, they drove once more to the Hotel Continental and asked for their old friend the manager. In a few minutes they were ushered into the presence of that urbane and smiling, but somewhat bored official. ‘We are exceedingly sorry to trouble you again, monsieur,’ apologised Lefarge, ‘but the fact is we find we require some more information about your recent visitor, M. Felix. If you can help us to obtain it, you will greatly add to our already large debt of gratitude.’
The manager bowed.
‘I shall be delighted to tell you anything I can. What is the point in question?’
‘We want to trace M. Felix’s movements after he left here. You have already told us he went to catch the 8.20 English boat train at the Gare du Nord. We wondered if he really did travel by it. Can you help us to find out?’
‘Our bus meets all the incoming boat trains, but attends only those outward bound by which visitors are travelling. If you will pardon me a moment, I will ascertain if it ran that day. It was Sunday, I think?’
‘Sunday, the 28th March.’
The manager was absent for a few moments, returning with a tall young man in the uniform of a porter.
‘I find the bus did run on the day in question, and Karl, here, went with it. He may be able to answer your questions.’
‘Thank you, monsieur.’ Lefarge turned to the porter. ‘You went to the Gare du Nord on Sunday, the 28th March, with some passengers for the 8.20 English boat train?’
‘Yes, monsieur.’
‘How many passengers had you?’
The porter considered.
‘Three, monsieur,’ he replied at length.
‘Did you know who they were?’
‘Two of them I knew, monsieur. One was M. Leblanc, a gentleman who had stayed in the hotel for over a month. The second was M. Felix, who has been a constant visitor for years. The third was an English gentleman, but I do not know his name.’
‘Did these gentlemen converse together while in the bus?’
‘I saw M. Felix speaking to the Englishman as they were leaving the bus, otherwise I cannot say.’
‘Did they go by the 8.20?’
‘Yes, monsieur. I put their luggage into the carriages, and I saw all three in the train as it was starting.’
‘Was M. Felix alone?’
‘He was, monsieur.’
‘Did he meet or speak with a lady at the station?’
‘I do not think so, monsieur. Certainly I did not see a lady.’
‘Did he seem anxious or perturbed?’
‘Not at all, monsieur. He was just as usual.’
‘Thank you, I am exceedingly obliged.’
Some silver changed hands, and Karl withdrew.
‘That is very satisfactory information, M. le Directeur. The only other point I want is the names and addresses of the two other occupants of the bus.’
These were ascertained with some slight difficulty—M. Guillaume Leblanc, rue Verte, Marseilles, and Mr. Henry Gordon, 327 Angus Lane, Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow—and the detectives bowed themselves out with compliments and thanks.
‘That’s a piece of luck,’ remarked Lefarge, as they drove towards the Gare du Nord. ‘Those men may have seen Felix at other stages of the journey, and we may be able to trace him the whole way.’
They spent the morning in the great station, interviewing ticket examiners and other officials, but without success. No one had seen either of the travellers.
‘The boat is more likely,’ observed Burnley. ‘If he is a constant traveller, some of the stewards will certainly know him.’
Taking the 4.00 p.m. train, they reached Bolougne as dusk was falling, and began their inquiries at the pier. Finding the Pas de Calais, which had made the run in which they were interested, would not leave till noon next day, they turned their steps to the local police station. There they saw the men who had been on duty when the boat left on the Sunday in question, but here again without getting any information. Then they went on board the steamer and sought the chief steward.
‘I know that gentleman, yes,’ he said when, after introducing themselves, Lefarge showed him Felix’s photograph. ‘He crosses frequently, once or twice a month, I should say. He is a M. Felix, but I cannot say where he lives, nor do I know anything else about him.’
‘What we want to find out, monsieur, is when he last crossed. If you can tell us that, we shall be extremely obliged.’
The official considered.
‘I am afraid I could hardly be sure of that. He crossed both ways fairly lately. I should say about ten days or a fortnight ago, but I’m not sure of the exact date.’
‘We think he crossed on Sunday, the 28th March. Can you think of anything that would confirm whether it was this date?’
‘No, I cannot. You see there would be nothing to record it. We could not now trace the ticket he held, and there is no way in which the identity of our passengers is ascertained and noted. Speaking from memory, I should say that the date you mention is about correct, but I could not be sure.’
‘Is there any one on board who might be able to help us?’
‘I’m really very sorry, monsieur, but I don’t think there is. The captain, or one of the officers, might know him; I could not say.’
‘Well, just one other question, monsieur. Was he travelling alone?’
‘I think so. No, wait a minute, was he? I believe, now that you mention it, there was a lady with him. You will understand I was not noticing particularly, as my mind was occupied with my work, but it’s like a dream to me, I saw him talking to a lady on the promenade deck.’
‘You could not describe her?’
‘I could not, monsieur. I cannot be even positive she was there at all.’
Seeing there was nothing further to be learnt, they thanked the chief steward courteously. Then, remaining on board, they interviewed every one they could find, whom they thought might be able to give them information. Of all they spoke to, only one, a waiter, knew Felix, and he had not seen him on the occasion in question.
‘That’s no good, I’m afraid,’ said Burnley, as they walked to an hotel. ‘I believe that steward did see a woman, but he would be useless as a witness.’
‘Quite. I don’t fancy you’ll get much at Folkestone either.’
‘Most unlikely, I should say, but I can but try. I think I’ll probably run up to Glasgow and see that man that travelled in the bus with him. He might know something.
‘If not, I’ll see the other—the one who lives in Marseilles.’
A few minutes before twelve next day saw the detectives strolling along the wharf beside the English boat.
‘Well,’ said Lefarge, ‘our ways part here. There is no use in my going to Folkestone, and I’ll take the 2.12 back to Paris. We have had a pleasant inquiry, and I’m only sorry we have not had a more definite result.’
‘We’re not done with it yet,’ returned the Englishman. ‘I expect we’ll get it pretty square before we stop. But I’m really sorry to say ‘Good-bye,’ and I hope we may be working together again before long.’
They parted with mutual assurances of goodwill, Burnley expressing his appreciation of the kindly treatment he had received in Paris, and Lefarge inviting him back to spend his next holidays in the gay capital.
We may accompany Lefarge on his return journey to Paris, and follow him as he endeavours to trace the movements of M. Boirac from the Saturday night of the dinner-party to the following Thursday evening, when the cask containing the body was despatched to London from the State Railway goods station in the rue Cardinet.
He reached the Gare du Nord at 5.45 p.m., and immediately drove to the S?reté. M. Chauvet was in his office, and Lefarge reported his movements since they parted.
‘I had a telephone call from Scotland Yard yesterday,’ said the Chief. ‘It seems Boirac turned up at eleven as arranged. He definitely identified the body as that of his wife, so that point is settled.’
‘Has he returned yet, do you know, monsieur?’
‘I have not heard. Why do you ask?’
‘I thought if he was still away I might take the opportunity of pumping Fran?ois about his movements since the murder.’
‘A good idea. We can find out at once.’
M. Chauvet turned over the pages of his telephone directory and, having found what he wanted, gave a call.
‘Hallo? Is that M. Boirac’s?—Is M. Boirac at home?—About seven o’clock? Ah, thank you. I’ll ring up again later.—No, don’t mind. It’s of no consequence.’
He replaced the receiver.
‘He’s crossing by the 11.00 from Charing Cross, and will be home about seven. If you were to call about half-past six, which is the hour at which he usually returns, your visit would not be suspicious, and you could have a chat with Fran?ois.’
‘I shall do that, monsieur,’ and with a bow the detective withdrew.
The clocks had just finished chiming the half-hour after six when Lefarge presented himself at the house in the Avenue de l’Alma. Fran?ois opened the door.
‘Good-evening, M. Fran?ois. Is M. Boirac at home?’
‘Not yet, monsieur. We expect him in about half an hour. Will you come in and wait?’
Lefarge seemed to consider, and then,—
‘Thanks. I think I will.’
The butler preceded him to the small sitting-room into which he had shown the two detectives on their first call.
‘I heard at the S?reté that M. Boirac had gone to London to identify the body. You don’t know, I suppose, if he was able to do so?’
‘No, monsieur. I knew he had gone to London, but I did not know for what purpose.’
The detective settled himself in a comfortable chair and took out a cigarette case.
‘Try one of these. They’re special Brazilian cigarettes. I suppose we may smoke here?’
‘Certainly, monsieur. I thank you.’
‘It’s a long way over from London. I don’t envy Monsieur his journey. You’ve been, I suppose, monsieur?’
‘Twice, monsieur.’
‘Once is all right to see the place, but after that—no, thank you. But I suppose M. Boirac is used to it? They say you can get used to anything.’
‘I should think he must be. He travels a lot. London, Brussels, Berlin, Vienna—he had been at them all to my knowledge in the last two years.’
‘I’m glad it’s he and not I. But I should think this unhappy event would take away his love for travelling. I should imagine he would want to stay quiet in his own home and see no one. What do you think, M. Fran?ois?’
‘Well, he hasn’t anyway, or else he can’t help himself. This is the second journey he’s made since then.’
‘You surprise me. Or rather, no, you don’t. I suppose we shouldn’t be talking about what doesn’t concern us, but I would be willing to lay a napoleon I could tell you where the first journey was to and what it was for. It was to see the Wilson Test. Am I not right?’
‘The Wilson Test, monsieur? What is that?’
‘Have you never heard of the Wilson Test? Wilson is the head of a great firm of English pump manufacturers, and each year a reward of over 10,000 francs is offered by them for any pump that can throw more water than theirs. A test is held every year, and the last one took place on Wednesday. M. Boirac would naturally be interested, being head of a pump manufactory himself. He would go to the Test.&............