It was a contented looking Burnley that turned out of the field and walked back to St Malo. He was well satisfied with his night’s work. He had firstly succeeded in getting a lot of information out of Felix, and had further turned the latter into a friend anxious to help in the clearing up of the mystery. And though an unexpected check had arisen in the disappearance of the cask, he felt that with the information he had gained in the last three hours it would not be long before he had his hands on it again.
As he approached the door Felix hailed him.
‘I saw you coming up,’ he said. ‘What luck?’
‘Oh, not so bad, not so bad,’ returned the other. ‘I’m just going back to the city.’
‘But the cask? What about it?’
‘I’ll start some inquiries that may lead to something.’
‘Oh, come now, Inspector, don’t be so infernally close. You might tell me what you’ve got in your mind, for I can see you have something.’
Burnley laughed.
‘Oh, well,’ he said, ‘I don’t mind. I’ll tell you what I found; you see what you make of it.
‘First, I found your coach-house padlock had been forced with a lever. There was nothing of the kind lying about, therefore whatever theory we adopt must account for this lever’s production and disposal. It may quite likely bear marks corresponding to those on the padlock, which evidence might be valuable.
‘I then found that your visitor had arrived at the yard gate with a vehicle and had climbed the wall with the aid of a very peculiar ladder. He had, presumably, opened the gate and, after loading up the cask and drawing his vehicle out on to the drive, had closed the gate, leaving by the same means. There is evidence to show that he lifted the ladder over after him, probably pulling it up by a cord.
‘I have said the ladder was a peculiar one. Here is a sketch of its shape so far as I could learn it. You will see that it is short and wide with the ends shaped differently.
‘I may remind you, in passing, how easy it would have been to load up the cask in spite of its weight. All that was necessary was to back the vehicle under it and lower out the differential pulley, a thing a man could do with one hand.
‘I examined the drive, but could find nothing except at one place where there was a most interesting pair of footmarks. You must really see these for yourself, and if you will stroll down now I will point them out. There is reason to believe they were made by Watty when he was approaching the house with the dray, but I cannot be positive as yet.
‘I then examined the lane and I found in three places other footmarks by the same man. Finally, about 200 yards along the main road to the north, I found wheel marks leading into a grass field beside which he had walked.
‘Now, Mr Felix, put all these things together. You will find them suggestive, but the footmarks on the drive are very nearly conclusive.’
They had by this time reached the marks.
‘Here we are,’ said Burnley. ‘What do you think of these?’
‘I don’t see anything very remarkable about them.’
‘Look again.’
Felix shook his head.
‘See here, Mr Felix. Stand out here on the gravel and put your right foot in line with this first print. Right. Now take a step forward as if you were walking to the house. Right. Does anything occur to you now?’
‘I can’t say that it does, unless it is that I have taken a very much longer step.’
‘But your step was of normal length.’
‘Well then, conversely, the unknown must have taken a short one.’
‘But did he? Assume it was Watty, as I think it must have been. You were with him and you saw him walking.’
‘Oh, come now, Inspector. How could I tell that? He didn’t normally take very short steps or I should have noticed it, but I couldn’t possibly say that he never took one.’
‘The point is not essential except that it calls attention to a peculiarity in the steps. But you must admit that while possible, it is quite unlikely he would take a step of that length—nineteen inches as against a probable thirty-three—without stumbling or making a false step.’
‘But how do you know he didn’t stumble?’
‘The impression, my dear sir, the impression. A false step or a stumble would have made a blurred mark or shown heavier on one side than the other. This print shows no slip and is evenly marked all over. It was clearly made quite normally.’
‘That seems reasonable, but I don’t see how it matters.’
‘To me it seems exceedingly suggestive though, I agree, not conclusive. But there is a nearly conclusive point, Mr Felix. Look at those prints again.’
‘They convey nothing to me.’
‘Compare them.’
‘Well, I can only compare the heels and there is not much difference between them, just as you would expect between the heels of a pair of boots.’ Felix hesitated. ‘By Jove! Inspector,’ he went on, ‘I’ve got you at last. They’re the same marks. They were both made by the same foot.’
‘I think so, Mr Felix; you have it now. Look here.’ The Inspector stooped. ‘The fourth nail on the left hand side is gone. That alone might be a coincidence, but if you compare the wear of the other nails and of the leather you will see they are the same beyond doubt.’
He pointed to several little inequalities and inaccuracies in the outline, each of which appeared in both the marks.
‘But even if they are the same, I don’t know that I see what you get from that.’
‘Don’t you? Well, look here. How could Watty, if it was he, have produced them? Surely only in one of two ways. Firstly, he could have hopped on one foot. But there are three reasons why it is unlikely he did that. One is that he could hardly have done it without your noticing it. Another, that he could never have left so clear an impression in that way. The third, why should he hop? He simply wouldn’t do it. Therefore they were made in the second way. What was that, Mr Felix?’
Felix started.
‘I see what you’re after at last,’ he said. ‘He walked up the drive twice.’
‘Of course he did. He walked up first with you to leave the cask. He walked up the second time with the empty dray to get it. If the impressions were really made by Watty that seems quite certain.’
‘But what on earth would Watty want with the cask? He could not know there was money in it.’
‘Probably not, but he must have guessed it held something valuable.’
‘Inspector, you overwhelm me with delight. If he took the cask it will surely be easy to trace it.’
‘It may or it may not. Question is, are we sure he was acting for himself.’
‘Who else?’
‘What about your French friend? You don’t know whom he may have written to. You don’t know that all your actions with the cask may not have been watched.’
‘Oh, don’t make things worse than they are. Trace this Watty, won’t you?’
‘Of course we will, but it may not be so easy as you seem to think. At the same time there are two other points, both of which seem to show he was at least alone.’
‘Yes?’
‘The first is the watcher in the lane. That was almost certainly the man who walked twice up your drive. I told you I found his footmarks at three points along it. One was near your little gate, close beside and pointing to the hedge, showing he was standing there. That was at the very point my man saw the watcher.
‘The second point concerns the horse and dray, and this is what leads me to believe the watcher was really Watty. If Watty was listening up the lane where were these? If he had a companion the latter would doubtless have walked them up and down the road. But if he was alone they must have been hidden somewhere while he made his investigations. I’ve been over most of the roads immediately surrounding, and on my fourth shot—towards the north, as I already told you—I found the place. It is fairly clear what took place. On leaving the cask he had evidently driven along the road until he found a gate that d
id not lead to a house. It was, as I said, that of a field. The marks there are unmistakable. He led the dray in behind the hedge and tied the horse to a tree. Then he came back to reconnoitre and heard you going out. He must have immediately returned and brought the dray, got the cask, and cleared out, and I imagine he was not many minutes gone before my man Walker returned. What do you think of that for a working theory?’
‘I think it’s conclusive. Absolutely conclusive. And that explains the queer-shaped ladder.’
‘Eh, what? What’s that you say?’
‘It must have been the gangway business for loading barrels on the dray. I saw one hooked on below the deck.’
Burnley smote his thigh a mighty slap.
‘One for you, Mr Felix,’ he cried, ‘one for you, sir. I never thought of it. That points to Watty again.’
‘Inspector, let me congratulate you. You have got evidence that makes the thing a practical certainty.’
‘I think it’s a true bill. And now, sir, I must be getting back to the Yard.’ Burnley hesitated and then went on: ‘I am extremely sorry and I’m afraid you won’t like it, but I shall be straight with you and tell you I cannot—I simply dare not—leave you without some kind of police supervision until this cask business is cleared up. But I give you my word you shall not be annoyed.’
Felix smiled.
‘That’s all right. You do your duty. The only thing I ask you is to let me know how you get on.’
‘I hope we’ll have some news for you later in the day.’
It was now shortly after eight, and the car had arrived with the two men sent back the previous evening. Burnley gave them instructions about keeping a watch on Felix, then with Sergeant Hastings and Constable Walker he entered the car and was driven rapidly towards London.
CHAPTER VII
THE CASK AT LAST
INSPECTOR BURNLEY reached Scotland Yard, after dropping Constable Walker at his station with remarks which made the heart of that observer glow with triumph and conjured up pictures of the day when he, Inspector Walker, would be one of the Yard’s most skilled and trusted officers. During the run citywards Burnley had thought out his plan of campaign, and he began operations by taking Sergeant Hastings to his office and getting down the large scale map.
‘Look here, Hastings,’ he said, when he had explained his theories and found what he wanted. ‘Here’s John Lyons and Sons’, the carriers where Watty is employed, and from where the dray was hired. You see it’s quite a small place. Here close by is Goole Street, and here is the Goole Street Post Office. Got the lie of those? Very well. I want you, when you’ve had your breakfast, to go out there and get on the track of Watty. Find out first his full name and address, and wire or phone it at once. Then shadow him. I expect he has the cask, either at his own house or hidden somewhere, and he’ll lead you to it if you’re there to follow. Probably he won’t be able to do anything till night, but of that we can’t be certain. Don’t interfere or let him see you if possible, but of course don’t let him open the cask if he has not already done so, and under no circumstances allow him to take anything out of it. I will follow you out and we can settle further details. The Goole Street Post Office will be our headquarters, and you can advise me there at, say, the even hours of your whereabouts. Make yourself up as you think best and get to work as quickly as you can.’
The sergeant saluted and withdrew.
‘That’s everything in the meantime, I think,’ said Burnley to himself, as with a yawn he went home to breakfast.
When some time later Inspector Burnley emerged from his house, a change had come over his appearance. He seemed to have dropped his individuality as an alert and efficient representative of Scotland Yard and taken on that of a small shopkeeper or contractor in a small way of business. He was dressed in a rather shabby suit of checks, with baggy knees and draggled coat. His tie was woefully behind the fashion, his hat required brushing, and his boots were soiled and down at heel. A slight stoop and a slouching walk added to his almost slovenly appearance.
He returned to the Yard and asked for messages. Already a telephone had come through from Sergeant Hastings: ‘Party’s name, Walter Palmer, 71 Fennell Street, Lower Beechwood Road.’ Having had a warrant made out for the ‘party’s’ arrest, he got a police motor with plain-clothes driver, and left for the scene of operations.
It was another glorious day. The sun shone out of a cloudless sky of clearest blue. The air had the delightful freshness of early spring. Even the Inspector, with his mind full of casks and corpses, could not remain insensible of its charm. With a half sigh he thought of that garden in the country which it was one of his dearest dreams some day to achieve. The daffodils would now be in fine show and the primroses would be on, and such a lot of fascinating work would be waiting to be done among the later plants …
The car drew up as he had arranged at the end of Goole Street and the Inspector proceeded on foot. After a short walk he reached his objective, an archway at the end of a block of buildings, above which was a faded signboard bearing the legend, ‘John Lyons and Son, Carriers.’ Passing under the arch and following a short lane, he emerged in a yard with an open-fronted shed along one side and a stable big enough for eight or nine horses on the other. Four or five carts of different kinds were ranged under the shed roof. In the middle of the open space, with a horse yoked in, was a dray with brown sides, and Burnley, walking close to it, saw that under the paint the faint outline of white letters could be traced. A youngish man stood by the stable door and watched Burnley curiously, but without speaking.
‘Boss about?’ shouted Burnley.
The youngish man pointed to the entrance.
‘In the office,’ he replied.
The Inspector turned and entered a small wooden building immediately inside the gate. A stout, elderly man with a grey beard, who was posting entries in a ledger, got up and came forward as he did so.
‘Morning,’ said Burnley, ‘have you a dray for hire?’
‘Why, yes,’ answered the stout man. ‘When do you want it and for how long?’
‘It’s this way,’ returned Burnley. ‘I’m a painter, and I have always stuff to get to and from jobs. My own dray has broken down and I want one while it’s being repaired. I’ve asked a friend for the loan of his, but he may not be able to supply. It will take about four days to put it right.’
‘Then you wouldn’t want a horse and man?’
‘No, I should use my own.’
‘In that case, sir, I couldn’t agree, I fear. I never let my vehicles out without a man in charge.’
‘You’re right in that, of course, but I don’t want the man. I’ll tell you. If you let me have it I’ll make you a deposit of its full value. That will guarantee its safe return.’
The stout man rubbed his cheek.
‘I might do that,’ he said. ‘I’ve never done anything like it before, but I don’t see why I shouldn’t.’
‘Let’s have a look at it, anyway,’ said Burnley.
They went into the yard and approached the dray, Burnley going through the form of examining it thoroughly.
‘I have a lot of small kegs to handle,’ he said, ‘as well as drums of paint. I should like to have that barrel loader fixed till I see if it’s narrow enough to carry them.’
The stout man unhooked the loader and fixed it in position.
‘Too wide, I’m afraid,’ said the Inspector, producing his rule. ‘I’ll just measure it.’
It was fifteen inches wide and six feet six long. The sides were of six by two material, with iron-shod ends. One pair of ends, that resting on the ground, was chisel-pointed, the other carried the irons for hooking it on to the cart. The ends of these irons made rectangles about three inches by two. Burnley looked at the rectangles. Both were marked with soil. He was satisfied. The loader was what Watty had used to cross the wall.
‘That’ll do all right,’ he said. ‘Let’s see, do you carry a box for hay or tools?’ He opened it and rapid
ly scanned its contents. There was a halter, a nosebag, a small coil of rope, a cranked spanner, and some other small objects. He picked up the spanner.
‘This, I suppose, is for the axle caps?’ he said, bending down and trying it. ‘I see it fits the nuts.’ As he replaced it in the box he took a quick look at the handle. It bore two sets of scratches on opposite sides, and the Inspector felt positive these would fit the marks on the padlock and staple of the coach-house door, had he been able to try them.
The stout man was regarding him with some displeasure.
‘You weren’t thinking of buying it?’ he said.
‘No, thanks, but if you want a deposit before you let me take it, I want to be sure it won’t sit down with me.’
They returned to the office, discussing rates. Finally these were arranged, and it was settled that when Burnley had seen his friend he was to telephone the result.
The Inspector left the yard well pleased. He had now complete proof that his theories were correct and that Watty with that dray had really stolen the cask.
Returning to Goole Street he called at the Post Office. It was ten minutes to twelve, and there being no message for him he stood waiting at the door. Five minutes had not elapsed before a street arab appeared, looked him up and down several times, and then said:
‘Name o’ Burnley?’
‘That’s me,’ returned the Inspector. ‘Got a note for me?’
‘The other cove said as ’ow you’ld give me a tanner.’
‘Here you are, sonny,’ said Burnley, and the sixpence and the note changed owners. The latter read:
‘Party just about to go home for dinner. Am waiting on road south of carrier’s yard.’
Burnley walked to where he had left the motor and getting in, was driven to the place mentioned. At a sign from him the driver drew the car to the side of the road, stopping his engine at the same time. Jumping down, he opened the bonnet and bent over the engine. Any one looking on would have seen that a small breakdown had taken place.
The Cask Page 8
