When Burnley left Lefarge on the pier at Boulogne, he felt as if he was losing a well-tried friend. Not only had the Frenchman, by his kindliness and cheerful companionship, made Burnley’s stay in the French capital a pleasant one, but his skill and judgment had been a real asset in the inquiry. And how rapidly the inquiry had progressed! Never before could Burnley recall having obtained so much information on any case in so short a time. And though his work was by no means complete, he was yet within reasonable distance of the end.
After an uneventful crossing he reached Folkestone and immediately went to the police station. There he saw the men who had been on duty when the Pas de Calais had berthed on the Sunday in question. But his inquiries were without result. No one resembling either Felix or Mme. Boirac had been observed.
He next tried the Customs officials, the porters who had taken the luggage from the boat, and the staff at the Pier Station. No information was forthcoming.
‘H’m. Means going to Glasgow, I suppose,’ he thought and, turning into the telegraph office on the platform he sent a wire:—
‘Henry Gordon, 327 Angus Lane, Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow. Could you see me if I called at ten to-morrow. Reply Burnley, Scotland Yard.’
Then he set off to walk to the Town Station to catch the next train for London.
At New Scotland Yard he had an interview with his Chief, to whom he recounted the results of the consultation in the S?reté, and his movements during the past two days, explaining that he proposed to go on to Glasgow that night if Mr. Gordon could see him the next morning. Then he went home for an hour’s rest. Ten o’clock saw him back at the Yard, where a telegram from Mr. Gordon was awaiting him. ‘Can see you to-morrow at the hour named.’
‘So far, so good,’ he thought, as he called a taxi and was driven to Euston, where he caught the 11.50 express for the north. He usually slept well in trains, and on this occasion he surpassed himself, only waking when the attendant came round half an hour before they were due in Glasgow.
A bath and breakfast at the Central Hotel made him feel fresh and fit as he sallied forth to keep his appointment in Angus Lane, Sauchiehall Street. Ten o’clock was chiming from the city towers as he pushed open the office door of No. 327, which bore the legend, ‘Mr. Henry Gordon, Wholesale Tea Merchant.’ That gentleman was expecting him, and he was ushered into his private room without delay.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he began, as Mr. Gordon, a tall man with small, fair side whiskers, and two very keen blue eyes, rose to meet him. ‘I am an Inspector from Scotland Yard, and I have taken the liberty of making this appointment to ask your help in an inquiry in which I am engaged.’
Mr. Gordon bowed.
‘Well, sir, and what do you wish me to do?’
‘To answer a few questions, if you don’t mind.’
‘I shall be pleased if I am able.’
‘Thank you. You were in Paris recently, I believe?’
‘That is so.’
‘And you stayed at the Hotel Continental?’
‘I did.’
‘Can you tell me what day you left to return to England?’
‘Yes, it was Sunday, the 28th of March.’
‘You drove, if I am not mistaken, from the hotel to the Gare du Nord in the hotel bus?’
‘I did.’
‘Now, Mr. Gordon, can you recollect what, if any, other persons travelled with you in the bus?’
The tea merchant did not immediately reply.
‘I did not specially observe, Mr. Inspector. I am not sure that I can tell you.’
‘My information, sir, is that three gentlemen travelled by that bus. You were one, and the man I am interested in was another. I am told that he conversed with you, or made at least one remark as you were leaving the bus at the station. Does this bring the circumstance to your mind?’
Mr. Gordon made a gesture of assent.
‘You are correct. I recall the matter now, and the men too. One was small, stout, clean-shaven, and elderly, the other younger, with a black pointed beard and rather foppishly dressed. They were both French, I took it, but the black-bearded man spoke English excellently. He was talkative, but the other hadn’t much to say. Is it the bearded man you mean?’
For answer Burnley held out one of Felix’s photographs.
‘Is that he?’
‘Yes, that’s the man sure enough. I remember him perfectly now.’
‘Did he travel with you to London?’
‘He didn’t travel with me, but he got to London all right, for I saw him twice again, once on the boat and once as I was leaving the station at Charing Cross.’
Here was definite evidence anyway. Burnley congratulated himself and felt glad he had not delayed making this visit.
‘Did he travel alone?’
‘So far as I know. He certainly started alone from the hotel.’
‘And he didn’t meet any one en route that you saw?’
‘When I saw him on the boat he was talking to a lady, but whether they were travelling together or merely chance acquaintances I couldn’t say.’
‘Was this lady with him in London?’
‘Not that I saw. He was talking to a man on the platform as I drove out. A tall young fellow, dark and rather good-looking.’
‘Would you know this young man again if you saw him?’
‘Yes, I think so. I got a good look at his face.’
‘I should be obliged if you would describe him more fully.’
‘He was about five feet eleven or six feet in height, rather thin and athletic looking. He had a pale complexion, was clean-shaven except for a small black moustache, and was rather French looking. He was dressed in some dark clothes, a brown overcoat, I fancy, but of that I’m not sure. I imagined he was meeting your friend, but I had really no definite reason to think so.’
‘Now, the lady, Mr. Gordon. Can you describe her?’
‘No, I’m afraid I can’t. She was sitting beside him and I did not see her face.’
‘Can you tell how she was dressed?’
‘She wore a reddish brown fur coat, sable, I fancy, though I’m not certain.’
‘And her hat? You didn’t notice anything special about that.’
‘No, nothing.’
‘It hadn’t, for example, a wide brim?’
‘A wide brim? Not that I noticed. But it may have had.’
‘Was it windy where they were sitting?’
‘Every place was windy that day. It was an abominable crossing.’
‘So that if it had had a wide brim, the lady would have had difficulty in keeping it on?’
‘Possibly,’ replied Mr. Gordon a trifle dryly, ‘but you probably can form an opinion on that as well as I.’
Burnley smiled.
‘We Scotland Yard people like to know everything,’ he said. ‘And now, Mr. Gordon, I have to express my thanks for your courtesy and help.’
‘That’s all right. Would it be indiscreet to ask the reason of these queries?’
‘Not at all, sir, but I fear I am not at liberty to give you much information. The man with the pointed beard is suspected of having decoyed a French lady over to England and murdered her. But, you will understand, it is so far only a matter of suspicion.’
‘Well, I should be interested to hear how it turns out.’
‘I am afraid you will hear, sir. If this man is tried, I expect your evidence will be required.’
‘Then for both our sakes I hope your case will not go on. Good-day, Mr. Burnley. Glad to have met you.’
There being nothing to keep him in Glasgow, the Inspector returned to the Central and took the midday London express. As it thundered southwards across the smiling country, he thought over the interview he had just had. He could not help marvelling again at the luck that had pursued his efforts ever since the inquiry began. Nearly every one he had interviewed had known at least something, if not always exactly what he wanted. He thought how many thousands of persons crossed the Channel each week whose journey it would be absolutely impossible to trace, and here, in the one instance that mattered, he had found a man who had been able to give him the very information he needed. Had Felix not gone in the bus, had Mr. Gordon not been so observant, had the circumstances not fallen out precisely as they did, he might never have ascertained the knowledge of Felix’s movements that day. And the same applied all through. Truly, if he did not get a complete case it would be his own fault.
And yet the evidence was unsatisfactory. It was never conclusive. It had a kind of thus-far-and-no-farther quality which always pointed to a certain thing, but stopped short of certainty. Here there was a strong presumption that Mme. Boirac had crossed with Felix, but no proof. It might, however unlikely, have been some one else. Nearly all the evidence he had got was circumstantial, and he wanted certainty.
His mind switched over to the case itself. He felt the probability of Felix’s guilt had been somewhat strengthened. Mr. Gordon’s statement was entirely consistent with that hypothesis. One would naturally expect the journey to be carried out just as it had been. In Paris, the lovers would be careful not to be seen together. At a station like the Gare du Nord, where acquaintances of both might easily be present, they would doubtless ignore each other’s existence. On the boat they would probably risk a conversation, particularly as the deck was almost deserted owing to the weather, but in London, especially if Felix expected some one to meet him, they would follow their Paris plan and leave the station separately. Yes, it certainly worked in.
The Inspector lit one of his strong cigars and gazed with unseeing eyes at the flying landscape as he continued his ruminations. On arrival in London what would be their next step? Felix, he expected, would shake off his friend, meet Madame at some prearranged spot, and in all probability take her to St. Malo. Then he recalled that the housekeeper had been granted a holiday, and they would doubtless arrive to find a house without food or fire, empty and cheerless. Therefore would they not go to an hotel? He thought it likely, and he began to plan a possible future step, a visit to all the probable hotels. But while speculating on the best to begin with, it occurred to him that if Felix had really committed the murder, it must, almost certainly, have been done at St. Malo. He could not conceive it possible at a hotel. Therefore probably they did go to the villa after all.
He went a step further. If the murder had taken place at St. Malo, the cask must have been packed there. He recalled the traces this operation had left in Boirac’s study. Surely some similar indications must have been left at the villa? If the cask had stood on a carpet or even possibly a linoleum, he might expect marks of the ring. And if not, there was the sawdust. He did not believe every trace of sawdust could have been removed.
It had been his intention in any case to search the house, and he took a mental note when doing so to look with special care for any such traces. This search, he decided, should be his next business.
On the following morning, therefore, he set out for St. Malo with his assistant, Sergeant Kelvin. As they drove, he explained the theory about the unpacking of the cask, and pointed out what, if this had been done, they might expect to find.
The house was empty as, owing to Felix still being in the hospital, the housekeeper’s leave had been extended. Burnley opened the door with a key from Felix’s bunch and the two men entered.
Then took place a search of the most meticulous thoroughness. Burnley began in the yard and examined each of the out-houses in turn. These had concrete floors and marks of the cask itself were not to be expected, but they were carefully brushed and the sweepings examined with a powerful lens for traces of sawdust. All their contents were also inspected, Felix’s two-seater, which was standing in the coach-house, receiving its full share of attention. Then the searchers moved to the house, one room after another being gone over in the same painstaking ............