‘Yes?’
‘There was no one there, so I looked into the different rooms. They were all empty, though lighted up. I thought to myself, “This is strange,” and I went to find Suzanne, Madame’s maid, who was sitting up for her. I asked her had Madame gone to bed, but she said not. “Well,” I said, “she’s not downstairs. Better go up and see if she’s in her room.” She went and came down in a moment looking frightened, and said the room was empty, but that Madame’s hat and fur coat and a pair of walking shoes were gone. Her evening shoes that she had been wearing were lying on the floor, where she had changed them. I went up myself and we searched around, and then I heard the latch of the front door again and went down. Monsieur was just coming in and, as I took his coat and hat, I told him about hearing the door close. He asked where Madame was, and I answered I did not know. He looked himself, and in the study he found a note which I suppose was from her, for after he had read it he asked no more questions, but told me she had had to go to Switzerland to her mother, who was ill. But I knew when he got rid of Suzanne two days later that she wasn’t coming back.’
‘What time did M. Boirac come in?’
‘About one o’clock, or a few minutes after.’
‘Were his hat and coat wet?’
‘Not very wet, monsieur, but he had been evidently walking through rain.’
‘You didn’t make any further search to see if anything else had been taken, I suppose?’
‘Yes, monsieur. Suzanne and I searched the entire house most thoroughly on Sunday.’
‘With no result?’
‘None, monsieur.’
‘I suppose the body could not have been concealed anywhere in the house?’
The butler started as this new idea struck him.
‘Why, no, monsieur,’ he said, ‘it would have been absolutely impossible. I myself looked in every spot and opened everything large enough to contain it.’
‘Thank you, I think that’s about all I want to know. Can you put me in touch with Suzanne?’
‘I believe I can get you her address, monsieur, from one of the parlourmaids with whom she was friends.’
‘Please do, and in the meantime we shall have a look through the house.’
‘You will not require me, monsieur?’
‘No, thanks.’
The plan of the downstairs rooms was simple. The hall, which was long and rather narrow, stretched back from the entrance door in the rue St Jean to the staircase in a direction parallel to the Avenue de l’Alma. On the right was the drawing-room, a large apartment in the angle between the two streets, with windows looking out on both. Across the hall, with its door facing that of the drawing-room, was the study, another fine room facing on to the rue St Jean. A small sitting-room, used chiefly by the late Madame Boirac, and the dining-room were situated behind the study and the drawing-room respectively. To the rear of the doors of these latter rooms were the staircase and servants’ quarters.
The detectives examined these respective rooms in detail. The furnishing was luxurious and artistic. The drawing-room furniture was Louis Quatorze, with an Aubusson carpet and some cabinets and tables of buhl. There was just enough of good Sèvres and Ormolu, the whole selection and arrangement reflecting the taste of the connoisseur. The dining-room and boudoir gave the same impression of wealth and culture, and the detectives as they passed from room to room were impressed by the excellent taste everywhere exhibited. Though their search was exhaustive it was unfortunately without result.
The study was a typical man’s room, except in one respect. There was the usual thick carpet on the floor, the customary book-lined walls, the elaborate desk in the window, and the huge leather arm-chairs. But there was also what almost amounted to a collection of statuary—figures, groups, friezes, plaques, and reliefs, in marble and bronze. A valuable lot, numerous enough and of sufficient excellence not to have disgraced the art galleries of a city. M. Boirac had clearly the knowledge, as well as the means, to indulge his hobby to a very full extent.
Burnley took his stand inside the door and looked slowly round the room, taking in its every detail in the rather despairing hope that he would see something helpful to his quest. Twice he looked at the various objects before him, observing in the slow, methodical way in which he had trained himself, making sure that he had a clear mental conception of each before going on to the next. And then his gaze became riveted on an object standing on one of the shelves.
It was a white marble group about two feet high of three garlanded women, two standing and one sitting.
‘I say,’ he said to Lefarge, in a voice of something approaching triumph, ‘have you heard of anything like that lately?’
There was no reply, and Burnley, who had not been observing his companion, looked round. Lefarge was on his knees examining with a lens something hidden among the thick pile of the carpet. He was entirely engrossed, and did not appear to have heard Burnley’s remark, but as the latter moved over he rose to his feet with a satisfied little laugh.
‘Look here!’ he cried. ‘Look at this!’
Stepping back to the cross wall adjoining the door, he crouched down with his head close to the floor and his eyes fixed on a point on the carpet in a line between himself and the window.
‘Do you see anything?’ he asked.
Burnley got into the same position, and looked at the carpet.
‘No,’ he answered slowly, ‘I do not.’
‘You’re not far enough this way. Come here. Now look.’
‘Jove!’ Burnley cried, with excitement in his tones. ‘The cask!’
On the carpet, showing up faintly where the light struck it, was a ring-shaped mark about two foot four inches diameter. The pile was slightly depressed below the general surface, as might have been caused by the rim of a heavy cask.
‘I thought so too,’ said Lefarge, ‘but this makes it quite certain.’
He held out his lens, and indicated the part of the floor he had been scrutinising.
Burnley knelt down and, using the lens, began to push open the interstices of the pile. They were full of a curious kind of dust. He picked out some and examined it on his hand.
‘Sawdust!’ he exclaimed.
‘Sawdust,’ returned the other, in a pleased and important tone. ‘See here’—he traced a circle on the floor—‘sawdust has been spilled over all this, and there’s where the cask stood beside it. I tell you, Burnley, mark my words, we are on to it now. That’s where the cask stood while Felix, or Boirac, or both of them together, packed the body into it.’
‘By Jove!’ Burnley cried again, as he turned over this new idea in his mind. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if you are right!’
‘Of course I’m right. The thing’s as plain as a pikestaff. A woman disappears and her body is found packed in sawdust in a cask, and here, in the very house where she vanishes, is the mark of the same cask—a very unusual size, mind you—as well as traces of the sawdust.’
‘Ay, it’s likely enough. But I don’t see the way of it for all that. If Felix did it, how could he have got the cask here and away again?’
‘It was probably Boirac.’
‘But the alibi? Boirac’s alibi is complete.’
‘It’s complete enough, so far as that goes. But how do we know it’s true? We have had no real confirmation of it so far.’
‘Except from François. If either Boirac or Felix did it, François must have been in it too, and that doesn’t strike me as likely.’
‘No, I admit the old chap seems all right. But if they didn’t do it, how do you account for the cask being here?’
‘Maybe that had something to do with it,’ answered Burnley, pointing to the marble group.
Lefarge started.
‘But that’s what was sent to Felix, surely?’ he cried, in surprise.
‘It looks like it, but don’t say anything. Here’s François. Let us ask him.’
The butler entered the room holding a slip of paper which he gave to Le
farge.
‘Suzanne’s address, messieurs.’ Lefarge read:
‘Mlle Suzanne Daudet,
‘rue Popeau, 14B,
‘Dijon.’
‘Look here, François,’ said the detective, pointing to the marble group. ‘When did that come here?’
‘Quite recently, monsieur. As you see, Monsieur is a collector of such things, and that is, I think, the latest addition.’
‘Can you remember the exact day it arrived?’
‘It was about the time of the dinner-party, in fact, I remember now distinctly. It was that very day.’
‘How was it packed?’
‘It was in a cask, monsieur. It was left in here that Saturday morning with the top boards loosened for Monsieur to unpack. He never would trust anyone to do that for him.’
‘Was he, then, in the habit of getting these casks?’
‘Yes, monsieur, a good many of the statues came in casks.’
‘I see. And when was this one unpacked?’
‘Two days later, monsieur, on Monday evening.’
‘And what happened to the cask?’
‘It was returned to the shop. Their cart called for it two or three days later.’
‘You don’t remember exactly when?’
The butler paused in thought.
‘I do not, monsieur. It was on the Wednesday or Thursday following, I believe, but I’m not positive.’
‘Thank you, François. There is one other thing I should be greatly obliged if you could do for me. Get me a sample of Madame’s writing.’
François shook his head.
‘I haven’t such a thing, monsieur,’ he replied, ‘but I can show you her desk, if you would care to look over it.’
They went into the boudoir, and François pointed out a small davenport finished with some delicate carving and with inlaid panels, a beautiful example of the cabinetmaker’s art. Lefarge seated himself before it and began to go through the papers it contained.
‘Somebody’s been before us,’ he said. ‘There’s precious little here.’
He produced a number of old receipted bills and circulars, with some unimportant letters and printed papers, but not a scrap in Madame’s handwriting could he discover.
Suddenly François gave an exclamation.
‘I believe I can get you what you want, messieurs, if you will wait a moment.’
‘Yes,’ he said, as he returned a few seconds later, ‘this will perhaps do. It was framed in the servants’ hall.’
It was a short document giving the work of the different servants, their hours of duty, and other similar information, and was written in the hand, so far as the detectives could recollect, of the letter of farewell to M. Boirac. Lefarge put it away carefully in his notebook.
‘Now let us see Madame’s room.’
They examined the bedroom, looking particularly for old letters, but without success. Next they interviewed the other servants, also fruitlessly.
‘All we want now,’ said Lefarge to the old butler, ‘is a list of the guests at that dinner, or at least some of them.’
‘I can tell you, I think, all of them, monsieur,’ returned François, and Lefarge noted the names in his book.
‘What time is M. Boirac likely to return?’ asked Burnley, when they had finished.
‘He should have been here before this, monsieur. He generally gets back by half-past six.’
It was now nearly seven, and, as they waited, they heard his latchkey in the door.
‘Ah, messieurs,’ he greeted them, ‘so you are here already. Any luck?’
‘No luck so far, M. Boirac,’ replied Lefarge, continuing after a pause: ‘There is a point on which we should be obliged for some information, monsieur. It is about this marble group.’
‘Yes?’
‘Could you tell us the circumstances under which you got it, and of its arrival here?’
‘Certainly. I am a collector of such articles, as you must have noticed. Some time ago, in passing Dupierre’s in the Boulevard des Capucines, I saw that group and admired it greatly. After some hesitation I ordered it and it arrived—I believe it was the very day of—of the dinner-party, either that or the day before—I am not positive. I had the cask containing it brought into the study to unpack myself—I always enjoy unpacking a new purchase—but I was so upset by what had happened I hadn’t much heart in doing so. However, on the following Monday evening, to try and distract my thoughts, I did unpack it, and there you see the result.’
‘Can you tell me, monsieur,’ asked Burnley, ‘was M. Felix also interested in such things?’
‘He was. He is an artist and painting is therefore his speciality, but he had a good knowledge of sculpture also.’
‘He wasn’t interested in that particular group, I suppose?’
‘Well, I can hardly tell you that. I told him about it and described it to him, but, of course, so far as I am aware he had not seen it.’
‘Did you happen to mention the price?’
‘I did, fourteen hundred francs. That was the thing he specially asked. That, and the shop at which I had bought it. He said he could not afford it then, but that at some time he might try and get another.’
‘Well, I think that’s all we want to know. Our best thanks, M. Boirac.’
‘Good-evening, messieurs.
They bowed themselves out, and, walking to the top of the Avenue, took the Metro to Concorde, from which they passed up the rue Castiglione to the Grands Boulevards to dine and spend the time until they were due back at the Sûreté.
CHAPTER XVI
INSPECTOR BURNLEY UP AGAINST IT
AT nine o’clock that evening the usual meeting was held in the Chief’s room at the Sûreté.
‘I also have had some news,’ said M. Chauvet, when he had heard Burnley’s and Lefarge’s reports. ‘I sent a man up to that pump manufactory and he found out enough to substantiate entirely Boirac’s statement of the hours at which he arrived there and left on the night of the accident. There is also a despatch from Scotland Yard. On receipt of Mr Burnley’s wire immediate inquiries were made about the cask sent by Havre and Southampton. It appears it arrived all right at Waterloo on the morning after it was despatched from here. It was booked through, as you know, to an address near Tottenham Court Road, and the railway people would in the ordinary course have delivered it by one of their lorries. But just as it was being removed from the van of the train, a man stepped forward and claimed it, saying he was the consignee, that he wished to take it to another address, and that he had a cart and man there for the purpose. He was a man of about medium height, with dark hair and beard, and the clerk thought he was a foreigner, probably French. He gave his name as Léon Felix and produced several envelopes addressed to himself at the Tottenham Court Road address as identification. He signed for, and was handed over the cask, and took it away. His movements after that were completely lost sight of, and no further traces of him have been discovered. A photo of Felix was shown to the Waterloo people, but while the clerk said it was like the man, neither he nor any of the others would swear to it.
‘Inquiries have also been made about Felix. It turns out he is an artist or designer in Messrs Greer and Hood’s, the advertisement poster people of Fleet Street. He is not married, but keeps an elderly servant-housekeeper. This woman was on a fortnight’s holiday from the 25th of March to the 8th of this month.
‘So much for London,’ continued M. Chauvet. ‘Now, let us see what we have still to do. First, that lady’s maid at Dijon must be interviewed. I think, Lefarge, you might do that. Tomorrow is Sunday. Suppose you go tomorrow. You could sleep at Dijon, and get back as early as possible on Monday. Then, Mr Burnley, that matter of the statue sent to M. Boirac must be gone into. Perhaps you would be good enough to make inquiries at Dupierre’s on Monday morning, and please keep in touch with me by phone. I will look into some other points, and we shall meet here at the same time that evening.’
The detectives took the Met
ro at Châtelet, Burnley going west to his hotel in the rue Castiglione, and Lefarge east to the Gare de Lyons.
On Monday morning Burnley called to see M. Thomas at the showroom in the Boulevard des Capucines.
‘I’m back again, M. Thomas,’ he said, as they greeted one another. He explained what had been learned about the casks at the Gare St Lazare, continuing, ‘So you see, two must have been sent out. Now, can you give me any information about the sending out of the second cask?’
‘Absolutely none, monsieur,’ returned Thomas, who was evidently amazed at this new development, ‘I am quite positive we only sent one.’
‘I suppose it’s impossible that Felix’s order could have been dealt with twice in error, once by you here, and once by the head office in the rue Provence?’
‘I should say quite, because they do not stock the good work there, it is all stored and dealt with here. But if you like I’ll phone the head office now, and make quite sure.’
In a few minutes there was a reply from M. Thévenet. No cask of any kind had been sent out from the rue Provence establishment on or about the date mentioned, and none at any time to Felix.
‘Well, M. Thomas, it’s certain, is it not, that one of your casks was sent by Rouen and long sea about the 1st instant. Do you think you could let me have a list of all the casks of that size that were out of your yard on that date? It must have been one of them.’
‘Yes, I suppose it must. I think I can give you that information, but it will take some time to get out.’
‘I’m sorry for giving you the trouble, but I see no other way. We shall have to follow up each of these casks until we find the right one.’
M. Thomas promised to put the work in hand without delay, and Burnley continued:
‘There is another point. Could you tell me something about your dealings with M. Raoul Boirac, of the Avenue de l’Alma, and particularly of any recent sales you made him?’
‘M. Boirac? Certainly. He is a very good customer of ours and a really well-informed amateur. For the last six years, since I was appointed manager here, we must have sold him thirty or forty thousand francs worth of stuff. Every month or two he would drop in, take a look round, and select some really good piece. We always advised him of anything new we came across and as often as not he became a purchaser. Of recent sales,’ M. Thomas consulted some papers, ‘the last thing we sold him was, curiously enough, the companion piece of that ordered by Felix. It was a marble group of three female figures, two standing and one seated. It was ordered on the 25th of March, and sent out on the 27th.’
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