In a few seconds a clerk entered with some papers.
‘Here are all the disappearances reported during March, monsieur,’ he said, ‘and here those for April up to the present date. I haven’t a return for the last four weeks only, but can get one out at once if you wish.’
‘No. These are all right.’
The Chief examined the documents.
‘Last month,’ he said, ‘seven persons disappeared of whom six were women, four being in the Paris area. This month two people have disappeared, both women and both in the Paris area. That is six women in Paris in the last five weeks. Let’s see, now,’ he ran his fingers down the column, ‘Suzanne Lemaître, aged seventeen, last seen—well, it could not be she. Lucille Marquet, aged twenty—no good either. All these are girls under twenty-one, except one. Here, what is this? Marie Lachaise, aged thirty-four, height 172 centimetres—that is about five feet eight in English measure—dark hair and eyes and clear complexion, wife of M. Henri Lachaise, the avocat, of 41 rue Tinques, Boulevarde Arago. Left home on the twenty-ninth ultimo, that is about ten days ago, at three o’clock, ostensibly for shopping. Has not been heard of since. Better take a note of that.’
M. Lefarge did so, and spoke for the first time.
‘We shall try it, of course, monsieur, but I don’t expect much result. If that woman went out to shop she would hardly be wearing evening dress, as was the corpse.’
‘Also,’ said Burnley, ‘I think we may take it the dead woman’s name was Annette B.’
‘Probably you are both right. Still, you had better make sure.’
The Chief tossed away the papers and looked at Burnley.
‘No other disappearances have been reported, nor have we any further information here that would seem to help. I am afraid we must fall back on our other clues. Let us consider, therefore, where we should start.’
He paused for a few moments and then resumed.
‘We may begin, I think, by checking the part of Felix’s statement which you, Mr Burnley, have not yet been able to inquire into, and to do so we must interview M. Le Gautier and try to ascertain if he wrote the letter. If he admits it we will be a step farther on, if not, we must find out how far the story of the lottery and the bet is true, and whether the conversation described by Felix actually took place. In this case we must ascertain precisely who were present and overheard that conversation, and would therefore have the knowledge necessary to write that letter. If this does not give us what we want, it may be necessary to follow up each of these persons and try for our man by elimination. A part of that inquiry would be a search for the typewriter used, which, as Mr Burnley points out, is identifiable. Simultaneously, I think we should endeavour to trace the wearing apparel and the cask. What do you think of that, gentlemen, for a rough programme?’
‘I don’t think we could do better, sir,’ returned Burnley as the Chief looked at him, while Lefarge nodded his approval.
‘Very well, I would suggest that you and Lefarge go into the matter of the letter tomorrow. Arrange your programme as you think best for yourselves and keep me advised of how you get on. And now as to the clothes. Let me see exactly what you have.’
Burnley spread out the dead woman’s clothes and jewellery on a table. The Chief examined them for some minutes in silence.
‘Better separate them into three lots,’ he said at length, ‘the dress, the underclothes, and the trinkets. It will take three to work it properly.’ He consulted his card index and picked up the telephone.
‘Send Mme. Furnier and Mlles. Lecoq and Blaise here.’
In a few seconds three stylishly dressed women entered. The Chief introduced Burnley and briefly explained the case.
‘I want you three ladies,’ he said, ‘to take one each of these three lots of clothes and trinkets, and find the purchaser. Their quality will give you an idea of the shops to try. Get at it first thing tomorrow, and keep yourselves in constant touch with headquarters.’
When the women had withdrawn with the articles he turned to Burnley.
‘In an inquiry of this sort I like a report in the evenings of progress during the day. Perhaps you and Lefarge wouldn’t mind calling about nine tomorrow evening, when we shall have a further discussion. And now it is nearly eight o’clock, so you cannot do anything tonight. You, Mr Burnley, are doubtless tired from your journey and will be glad to get to your hotel. So good-night, gentlemen.’
The detectives bowed themselves out. After an exchange of further greetings and compliments, Lefarge said:
‘Are you really very tired? Are you game for a short inquiry tonight?’
‘Why, certainly. What do you propose?’
‘This. Let us cross and get some dinner at Jules’ in the Boule Miche. It’s on the way to that address the Chief gave us. Then we could go on and see whether the body you found in the cask can be identified as that of Madame Marie Lachaise.’
They strolled leisurely over the Pont St Michel and crossed the Quai into the Boulevard. When Burnley was in London he swore there was no place like that city, but in Paris he never felt so sure. Jove! he was glad to be back. And what luck to have met this good fellow Lefarge again! He felt that in the intervals of business he was going to enjoy himself.
They dined inexpensively but well, sitting over their cigars and liqueur coffee until the clocks struck nine. Then Lefarge made a move.
‘I don’t like to go to this place too late,’ he said. ‘Do you mind coming now?’
They took a taxi and, leaving the Luxembourg behind on the left, quickly ran the mile or so to the Boulevard Arago. M. Lachaise received them at once and they stated their melancholy business, showing the photograph of the body. The avocat took it to the light and examined it earnestly. Then he returned it with a gesture of relief.
‘Thank God,’ he said at length, ‘it’s not she.’
‘The body was clothed in a light pink evening dress, with several diamond rings on the fingers and a diamond comb in the hair.’
‘It is not she at all. My wife had no pink dress, nor did she wear a diamond comb. Besides, she left here in an out-of-door walking dress and all her evening things were in her wardrobe.’
‘It is conclusive,’ said M. Lefarge, and with thanks and compliments they took their leave.
‘I thought that would be no good,’ said Lefarge, ‘but we must do what the Chief says.’
‘Of course. Besides, you never know. Look here, old man,’ he added, ‘I am tired after all. I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll get away to the hotel.’
‘But, of course. Whatever you feel like. Let’s stroll to the end of the Boulevard. We can get the Metro across the street at the Avenue d’Orleans.’
They changed at Châtelet and, having arranged to meet next morning, the Inspector took the Maillot train for Concorde, while Lefarge went in the opposite direction to his home near the Place de la Bastille.
CHAPTER X
WHO WROTE THE LETTER?
AT ten o’clock next morning Lefarge called for Burnley at the latter’s hotel in the rue Castiglione.
‘Now for M. Alphonse Le Gautier, the wine merchant,’ said the former as he hailed a taxi.
A short drive brought them to the rue de Vallorbes, off the Avenue Friedland, and there they discovered that the gentleman they were in search of was no myth, but a creature of real flesh and blood. He occupied a flat on the first floor of a big corner house, and the spacious approach and elegant furnishing indicated that he was a man of culture and comparative wealth. He had gone, they were told, to his office in the rue Henri Quatre, and thither the two friends followed him. He was a man of about five-and-thirty, with jet black hair and a pale, hawk-like face, and his manner was nervous and alert.
‘We have called, monsieur,’ said Lefarge, when the detectives had introduced themselves, ‘at the instance of M. le Chef de la Sûreté, to ask your assistance in a small inquiry we are making. We want to trace the movements of a gentleman who is perhaps not unknown to you, a M.
Léon Felix, of London.’
‘Léon Felix? Why, of course I know him. And what has he been up to?’
‘Nothing contrary to the law, monsieur,’ returned Lefarge with a smile, ‘or, at least, we believe not. But unfortunately, in the course of another inquiry a point has arisen which makes it necessary for us to check some statements he has made about his recent actions. It is in this we want your help.’
‘I don’t think I can tell you much about him, but any questions you ask I’ll try to answer.’
‘Thank you, M. Le Gautier. Not to waste your time, then, I’ll begin without further preface. When did you last meet M. Felix?’
‘Well, it happens I can tell you that, for I had a special reason to note the date.’ He referred to a small pocket diary. ‘It was on Sunday the 14th of March, four weeks ago next Sunday.’
‘And what was the special reason to which you refer?’
‘This. On that day M. Felix and I made an arrangement to purchase coupons in the Government lotteries. He handed me 500 francs as his share, and I was to add another 500 francs and put the business through. Naturally I noted the transaction in my engagement book.’
‘Can you tell me under what circumstances this arrangement came to be made?’
‘Certainly. It was the result of an otherwise idle conversation on the lottery system, which took place that afternoon between a number of men, of whom I was one, at the Café Toisson d’Or, in the rue Royale. At the close of the discussion I said I would try my luck. I asked Felix to join me, and he did so.’
‘And did you purchase the bonds?’
‘I did. I wrote enclosing a cheque that same evening.’
‘And I hope your speculation turned out successfully?’
M. Le Gautier smiled.
‘Well, I can hardly tell you that, you know. The drawing will not be made till next Thursday.’
‘Next Thursday? Then I can only hope you will have luck. Did you write M. Felix that you had actually moved in the matter?’
‘No, I took it, that went without saying.’
‘So that you have not communicated with M. Felix in any way since last Sunday three weeks?’
‘That is so.’
‘I see. Now, another point, M. Le Gautier. Are you acquainted with a M. Dumarchez, a stockbroker, whose office is in the Boulevard Poissonière?’
‘I am. As a matter of fact he also was present at the discussion about the lotteries.’
‘And since that discussion you made a certain bet with him?’
‘A bet?’ M. Le Gautier looked up sharply. ‘I don’t understand you. I made no bet.’
‘Do you remember having a discussion with M. Dumarchez about criminals pitting their wits against the police?’
‘No, I recollect nothing of the kind.’
‘Are you prepared, monsieur, to say that no such conversation took place?’
‘Certainly, I do say it. And I should very much like to know the purport of all these questions.’
‘I am sorry, monsieur, for troubling you with them, and I can assure you they are not idle. The matter is a serious one, though I am not at liberty to explain it fully at present. But if you will bear with me I would like to ask one or two other things. Can you let me have the names of those present at the Toisson d’Or when the conversation about the lotteries took place?’
M. Le Gautier remained silent for some moments.
‘I hardly think I can,’ he said at last. ‘You see, there was quite a fair sized group. Besides Felix, Dumarchez, and myself, I can recollect M. Henri Briant and M. Henri Boisson. I think there were others, but I cannot recall who they were.’
‘Was a M. Daubigny one of them?’
‘You are right. I had forgotten him. He was there.’
‘And M. Jaques Rôget?’
‘I’m not sure.’ M. Le Gautier hesitated again. ‘I think so, but I’m not really sure.’
‘Can you let me have the addresses of these gentlemen?’
‘Some of them. M. Dumarchez lives five doors from me in the rue de Vallorbes. M. Briant lives near the end of the rue Washington, where it turns into the Champs Élysées. The other addresses I cannot tell you off-hand, but I can help you to find them in a directory.’
‘Many thanks. Now, please excuse me for going back a moment. You gave me to understand you did not write to M. Felix on the subject of the lottery?’
‘Yes, I said so, I think, quite clearly.’
‘But M. Felix states the very opposite. He says he received a letter from you, dated Thursday, 1st April, that is, this day week.’
M. Le Gautier stared.
‘What’s that you say? He says he heard from me? There must be a mistake there, monsieur, for I did not write to him.’
‘But he showed me the letter.’
‘Impossible, monsieur. He could not have shown you what did not exist. Whatever letter he may have shown you was not from me. I should like to see it. Have you got it there?’
For answer Lefarge held out the sheet which Felix had given to Burnley during their midnight conversation at the villa of St Malo. As M. Le Gautier read it the look of wonder on his expressive face deepened.
‘Extraordinary!’ he cried, ‘but here is a mystery! I never wrote, or sent, or had any knowledge of such a letter. It’s not only a forgery, but it’s a pure invention. There’s not a word of truth in that story of the bet and the cask from beginning to end. Tell me something more about it. Where did you get it?’
‘From M. Felix himself. He gave it to Mr Burnley here, saying it was from you.’
‘But, good heavens!’ The young man sprang to his feet and began pacing up and down the room, ‘I can’t understand that. Felix is a decent fellow, and he wouldn’t say it was from me if he didn’t believe it. But how could he believe it? The thing is absurd.’ He paused and then continued. ‘You say, monsieur, that Felix said this note was from me. But what made him think so? There’s not a scrap of writing about it. It isn’t even signed. He must have known any one could write a letter and type my name below it. And then, how could he suppose that I should write such a tissue of falsehoods?’
‘But that is just the difficulty,’ returned Lefarge. ‘It’s not so false as you seem to imagine. The description of the conversation about the lottery and your arrangement with Felix to purchase bonds is, by your own admission, true.’
‘Yes, that part is, but the rest, all that about a bet and a cask, is wholly false.’
‘But there I fear you are mistaken also, monsieur. The part about the cask is apparently true. At least the cask arrived, addressed as described, and on the day mentioned.’
Again the young merchant gave an exclamation of astonishment.
‘The cask arrived?’ he cried. ‘Then there really was a cask?’ He paused again. ‘Well, I cannot understand it, but I can only repeat that I never wrote that letter, nor have I the slightest idea what it is all about.’
‘It is, of course, obvious, monsieur, as you point out, that any one could have typed a letter ending with your name. But you will admit it is equally obvious that only a person who knew of your entering the lottery could have written it. You tell us you are not that person, and we fully accept your statement. Who else then, M. Le Gautier, had this information?’
‘As far as that goes, anyone who was present at the discussion at the Toisson d’Or.’
‘Quite so. Hence you will see the importance of my questions as to who these were.’
M. Le Gautier paced slowly up and down the room, evidently thinking deeply.
‘I don’t know that I do,’ he said at last. ‘Suppose everything in that letter was true. Suppose, for argument’s sake, I had written it. What then? What business of the police is it? I can’t see that the law has been broken.’
Lefarge smiled.
‘That ought to be clear enough, anyway. Look at the facts. A cask arrives in London by the I. and C. boat from Rouen, labelled to a man named Felix at a certain address. Inquiries show tha
t no one of that name lives at that address. Further, the cask is labelled “Statuary,” but examination shows that it does not contain statuary, but money, sovereigns. Then a man representing himself as Felix appears, states he lives at the false address, which is untrue, says he is expecting by that boat a cask of statuary, which is also untrue, and claims the one in question. The steamer people, being naturally suspicious, will not give it up, but by a trick Felix gets hold of it, and takes it to quite another address. When questioned by the police he produces this letter to account for his actions. I do not think it surprising that we are anxious to learn who wrote the letter, and if its contents are true.’
‘No, no, of course it is reasonable. I did not understand the sequence of events. All the same, it is the most extraordinary business I ever heard of.’
‘It is strange, certainly. Tell me, M. Le Gautier, have you ever had any disagreement with Mr Felix? Can you imagine him having, or thinking he had, any cause of offence against you?’
‘Nothing of the kind.’
‘You never gave him cause, however innocently, to feel jealousy?’
‘Never. But why do you ask?’
‘I was wondering whether he might not have played a trick on you, and have written the letter himself.’
‘No, no. I’m sure it’s not that. Felix is a very straight, decent fellow. He would not do a thing like that.’
‘Well, can you think of anyone who might be glad to give you annoyance? What about the men who were present when you discussed the lottery? Or any one else at all?’
‘I cannot think of a single person.’
‘Did you tell anyone about this matter of the lottery?’
‘No. I never mentioned it.’
‘One other question, monsieur, and I have done. Did you at any time borrow £50 or the equivalent of French money from M. Felix.’
‘I never borrowed from him at all.’
‘Or do you know any one who borrowed such a sum from him?’
‘No one, monsieur.’
‘Then, monsieur, allow me to express my regret for the annoyance given, and my thanks for your courteous replies to my questions.’ He flashed a glance at Burnley. ‘If we might still further inflict ourselves on you, I should like, with your permission, to ask M. Dumarchez to join us here so that we may talk the matter over together.’
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