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Inspector Burnleys eyes brightened. Never had he seen better impressions. Here was something tangible at last. He bent down to examine them more closely, then suddenly sprang to his feet with a gesture of annoyance.
Can you remember where precisely the conversation about the lottery took place?
Forgive me, but can you give any proof of that? A mere matter of form, of course, but in justice to my employers I am bound to ask the question.
The two detectives exchanged glances of surprise.
There was silence for several seconds, then Heppenstall spoke again.
The men expressed anxiety to supply whatever was needed.
M. Boirac? repeated the clerk, doubtfully, I do not think we have any one of that name here at present. He turned over a card index on the desk. No, monsieur, he has not come yet.
I may get what you want all right, sir. Im only pointing out that the thing is not all plain sailing. Ill cross, then, to-night, and I hope I may soon have some good news to send you.
He was delighted at his success. The more he thought of it, the more certain he felt that Boiracs fault-finding was merely an excuse to get rid of the typewriter. And the manufacturer had dismissed Mlle. Lambert simply because she knew too much. If inquiries were made in the office, he would be safer with her out of the way.
Your torch, La Touche! he cried, and then he saw what it was. Tied to the switch was a length of fishermans gut. Practically invisible, it passed down the wall and through a tiny hole in the floor. Any one pulling it from below would switch off the light.
Youre very quick, Mr. Felix. Of course its your handwriting I want also. But I assure you its only routine. Now please, think. Is there any one else?
He left the office and, walking to the Simplon station of the Metropolitaine, took the train for the centre of the town. He was pleased with his progress. As in the earlier stages of the inquiry, information was coming in rapidly. At first he was inclined to think he had already got enough to confirm the first portion of Boiracs statement, then his training re-asserted itself, and he decided to go back to the house in the Avenue de lAlma, and if possible get Fran?ois corroboration. He therefore alighted at Chatelet and took the Maillot train to Alma, walking down the Avenue.
I have not heard. Why do you ask?
I heard the front door bang not ten minutes ago, monsieur, he said, as I took off my wet coat. I got up to see if anything was wrong.
Certainly.
Thanks, thats everything. And now, if you will allow me, I will take a few winks here in the chair till it gets light, and if you take my advice you will turn in.
But certainly, monsieur. He was a small man, thin and sickly looking, with white hair and a clean-shaven face.
He lunched alone, greatly regretting M. Lefarges absence, and then called up the S?ret again. M. Chauvet wanted to speak to him, he was told, and soon he was switched through to the great mans private room.
Another idea entered the Inspectors mind. He had, perhaps, been thinking too much of the 988, and too little of the womans hand. Suppose there really was a corpse in the cask. What then?
About four. I had it packed and ready by two, but the lorry did not come for a couple of hours after that.
Thats a piece of luck, remarked Lefarge, as they drove towards the Gare du Nord. Those men may have seen Felix at other stages of the journey, and we may be able to trace him the whole way.