When La Touche solved the problem of how Boirac had faked his alibi, his first impression was that his work was done. But, as had happened so often before, second thoughts showed him that this was hardly the case. Though he had established Boirac’s guilt to his own satisfaction, he doubted if he could prove it in court, and, indeed, the whole matter was still far from clear. He felt that if he could only find the carter who had brought the cask to the rue Cardinet he would reach certainty on at least some of the points which were puzzling him. He therefore decided to concentrate once more on this problem.
Since the sending out of his circular to the managers of the various carting establishments in the city, he had interviewed no less than twenty-seven more or less clean-shaven, white-haired, and sharp-featured carters. But all to no purpose. The man he wanted was not among them. And as answers to practically all his circulars had been received, he had reluctantly come to the conclusion his plan had failed.
That evening, when Mallet called to make his customary report on Boirac’s doings, the two men discussed the matter, and it was a remark dropped by his assistant that turned La Touche’s thoughts to a point he had previously overlooked.
‘Why do you think he was employed by a cartage contractor?’ Mallet had asked, and La Touche had been going to reply with some asperity that cartage contractors were not uncommonly found to employ carters, when the pertinence of the other’s question struck him. Why, indeed? Of the thousands of carters in Paris, only a small proportion were employed by cartage firms. By far the greater number worked for specific businesses. Might not the man who brought the cask to the goods station belong to this class, and if so, might not this account for the failure of the original advertisements? If a carter were bribed to use his employer’s vehicle for his own gain he would not afterwards give the fact away. And to La Touche it seemed that such a move would be just what might be expected from a man of Boirac’s mentality.
But if this theory were correct; if the carter had thus been bound over to silence, how was the man to be discovered and the truth wrung from him?
La Touche smoked two cigars over this problem, and then it occurred to him that the method he had already adopted was sound as far as it went. It merely did not go far enough.
The only way in which he could ensure finding his hypothetical carter would be to send a circular to every employer in Paris. But that was too large an order.
That night, he discussed the matter with the two porters, whom he found intelligent men and keenly interested in the inquiry. He made them describe the kind of cart the cask was brought in, then with a directory he marked off the trades in which the employment of such a vehicle was likely. When he had finished, though some thousands of names were included, he did not think the number overwhelming.
For a considerable time he pondered the question of advertising his circular in the press. At last he decided he could not do so, as if Boirac saw it he would doubtless take precautions to prevent the truth becoming known. La Touche therefore returned to the office of the Business Supplies Company and instructed them to send his circular to each of the thousands of employers in the selected trades, they tabulating the replies and giving him the summary. Though he was by no means sanguine of the success of this move, he felt it offered a chance.
For the next three evenings La Touche and the porters had a busy time. White-haired carters turned up at the H?tel d’Arles literally in dozens, till the management threatened an ejectment and talked of a claim for fresh carpets. But all was fruitless. The man they wanted did not appear.
On the third day, amongst other letters sent on from the Business Supplies Company, was one which immediately interested La Touche.
‘In reply to your circular letter of the 18th inst.,’ wrote Messrs. Corot, Fils, of the rue de Rivoli, ‘we have a man in our employment who, at the end of March, answered your description. His name is Jean Dubois, of 18b rue de Falaise, near Les Halles. About that time, however, he ceased shaving and has now grown a beard and moustache. We have asked him to call with you.’
Was it, thought La Touche, merely a coincidence that this clean-shaven carter should begin to grow a beard immediately after the delivery of the cask? When two more days passed and the man did not turn up, La Touche determined to call on him.
Accordingly the next evening he arranged for Mallet and one of the porters to deal with the men at the H?tel d’Arles, while he himself in company with the other set out to find Dubois. The rue de Falaise turned out to be a narrow, dirty street of high, sombre buildings, with the word slum writ large across their grimy frontages. At 18b, La Touche ascended and knocked at a ramshackle door on a dark stone landing. It was opened by a slatternly woman, who stood, silently waiting for him to speak, in the gloom of the threshold. La Touche addressed her with his usual suavity.
‘Good-evening, madame. Is this where M. Jean Dubois of Messrs. Corot, Fils lives?’
The woman signified assent, but without inviting her visitor in.
‘I have a little job for him. Could I see him, please?’
‘He’s not in, monsieur.’
‘That’s unfortunate for me and for him too, I fancy. Can you tell me where I should find him?’
The woman shrugged her shoulders.
‘I cannot tell, monsieur.’ She spoke in a dull, toneless way, as if the struggle for existence had sapped away all her interest in life.
La Touche took out a five-franc piece and pushed it into her hand.
‘You get hold of him for me,’ he said, ‘I want this little job done and he could do it. It’ll get him into no trouble, and I’ll pay him well.’
The woman hesitated. Then, after a few seconds, she said:—
‘If I tell you where he is, will you give me away?’
‘No, on my honour. We shall have found him by accident.’
‘Come this way, then, monsieur.’
She led them down the stairs and out again into the dingy street. Passing along it like a furtive shadow she turned twice, then halted at the corner of a third street.
‘Down there, monsieur,’ she pointed. ‘You see that café with the coloured glass windows? He’ll be in there,’ and without waiting for an acknowledgment she slipped away, vanishing silently into the gloom.
The two men pushed open the café door and entered a fairly large room dotted with small marble tables, with a bar in one corner and a dancing stage at the back. Seating themselves unostentatiously at a table near the door they called for drinks.
There were some fifteen or twenty men and a few women in the place, some reading the papers, some playing dominoes, but most lounging in groups and talking. As La Touche’s keen eye ran over the faces, he soon spotted his man.
‘Is that he, Charcot?’ he asked, pointing to a small, unhealthy looking fellow, with a short, untidy, white beard and moustache.
The porter looked cautiously. Then he assented eagerly.
‘It’s the man, monsieur, I believe. The beard changes him a bit, but I’m nearly sure it’s he.’
The suspect was one of those on the outskirts of a group, to whom a stout, fussy man with a large nose was holding forth on some socialistic subject. La Touche crossed over and touched the white-haired man on the arm.
‘M. Jean Dubois?’
The man started and an expression of fear came into his eyes. But he answered civilly enough.
‘Yes, monsieur. But I don’t know you.’
‘My name is La Touche. I want a word or two with you. Will you have a drink with me and my friend here?’
He indicated the porter, Charcot, and they moved over. The fear had left Dubois’s eyes, but he still looked uneasy. In silence they sat down.
‘Now Dubois, what will you take?’
When the carter’s wants were supplied, La Touche bent towards him and began speaking in a low tone:—
‘I dare say, Dubois, you already guess what I want, and I wish to say before anything else that you have nothing to fear if you are straight with me. On the contrary, I will give you one hundred francs if you answer my questions truly. If not—well, I am connected with the police, and we’ll become better acquainted.’
Dubois moved uneasily as he stammered:—
‘I don’t know what you mean, monsieur.’
‘So that there shall be no mistake, I shall tell you. I want to know who it was engaged you to take the cask to the rue Cardinet goods station.’
La Touche, who was watching the other intently, saw him start, while his face paled and the look of fear returned to his eyes. It was evident he understood the question. That involuntary motion had given him away.
‘I assure you, monsieur, I don’t know what you mean. What cask are you referring to?’
La Touche bent closer.
‘Tell me, do you know what was in that cask? No? Well, I’ll tell you. There was a body in it—the body of a woman—a murdered woman. Did you not guess that from the papers? Did you not realise that the cask you carried to the station was the one that all the papers have been full of? Now, do you want to be arrested as an accessory after the fact in a murder case?’
The man was ghastly, and beads of perspiration stood on his forehead. In a trembling voice he began again to protest his ignorance. La Touche cut him short.
‘Chut, man! You needn’t keep it up. Your part in the thing is known, and if it wasn’t you would soon give it away. Dubois, you haven’t red enough blood for this kind of thing! Be guided by me. Make a clean breast of it, and I’ll give you the hundred francs, and, what’s more, I’ll do my best to help you out of your trouble with your employers. If you don’t, you’ll have to come along now to the S?reté. Make up your mind quickly what you’re going to do.’
The man, evidently panic stricken, remained silent. La Touche took out his watch.
‘I’ll give you five minut............