the cask contained something besides the money. What was it?’
‘I’m sorry I can’t answer you. The thing was only a suspicion, and we shall learn the truth in so short a time it’s not worth discussion.’
Burnley having to make a call on some other business, they returned by a different route, coming down to the river near London Bridge. Already the day was drawing in, and yellow spots of light began to gleam in the windows of the palace hotels, and from the murky buildings on the south side. On the comparatively deserted Embankment they made good speed, and Big Ben was chiming the quarter after seven as they swung into the Yard.
‘I’ll see if the Chief’s in,’ said Burnley, as they reached his office. ‘He wanted to see the cask opened.’
The great man was getting ready to go home, but decided to wait on seeing the Inspector. He greeted Felix politely.
‘Singular set of circumstances, Mr. Felix,’ he said, as they shook hands. ‘I trust they will remain only that.’
‘You’re all very mysterious about it,’ returned Felix. ‘I have been trying to get a hint of the Inspector’s suspicions but he won’t commit himself.’
‘We shall see now in a moment.’
Headed by Burnley, they passed along a corridor, down some steps and through other passages, until they emerged in a small open yard entirely surrounded by a high, window-pierced building. Apparently in the daytime it acted as a light well, but now in the growing dusk it was itself illuminated by a powerful arc lamp which threw an intense beam over every part of the granolithic floor. In the centre stood the cask, on end, with the damaged stave up.
The little group numbered five. There were the Chief, Felix, Burnley, Sergeant Kelvin, and another nondescript looking man. Burnley stepped forward.
‘This cask is so exceedingly strongly made,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a carpenter to open it. I suppose he may begin?’
The Chief nodded, and the nondescript man advancing set to work and soon lifted out the pieces of wood from the top. He held one up.
‘You see, gentlemen, it’s nearly two inches thick, more than twice as heavy as an ordinary wine cask.’
‘That’ll do, carpenter. I’ll call you if I want you again,’ said Burnley, and the man, touching his cap, promptly disappeared.
The four men drew closer. The cask was filled up to the top with sawdust. Burnley began removing it, sifting it carefully through his fingers.
‘Here’s the first,’ he said, as he laid a sovereign on the floor to one side. ‘And another! And another!’
The sovereigns began to grow into a tiny pile.
‘There’s some very uneven-shaped thing here,’ he said again. ‘About the centre the sawdust is not half an inch thick, but it goes down deep round the sides. Lend a hand, Kelvin, but be careful and don’t use force.’
The unpacking continued. Handful after handful of dust was taken out and, after being sifted, was placed in a heap beside the sovereigns. As they got deeper the operation became slower, the spaces from which the tightly packed dust was removed growing narrower and harder to get at. Fewer sovereigns were found, suggesting that these had been placed at the top of the cask after the remainder of the contents had been packed.
‘All the sawdust we can get at is out now,’ Burnley said presently, and then, in a lower tone, ‘I’m afraid it’s a body. I’ve come on a hand.’
‘A hand? A body?’ cried Felix, his face paling and an expression of fear growing in his eyes. The Chief moved closer to him as the others bent over the cask.
The two men worked silently for some moments and then Burnley spoke again,—
‘Lift now. Carefully does it.’
They stooped again over the cask and, with a sudden effort lifted out a paper-covered object and laid it reverently on the ground. A sharp ‘My God!’ burst from Felix, and even the case-hardened Chief drew in his breath quickly.
It was the body of a woman, the head and shoulders being wrapped round with sheets of brown paper. It lay all bunched together as it had done in the cask. One dainty hand, with slim, tapered fingers protruded from the paper, and stuck stiffly upwards beside the rounded shoulder.
The men stopped and stood motionless looking down at the still form. Felix was standing rigid, his face blanched, his eyes protruding, horror stamped on his features. The Chief spoke in a low tone,—
‘Take off the paper.’
Burnley caught the loose corner and gently removed it. As it came away the figure within became revealed to the onlookers.
The body was that of a youngish woman, elegantly clad in an evening gown of pale pink cut low round the throat and shoulders, and trimmed with old lace. Masses of dark hair were coiled round the small head. On the fingers the glint of precious stones caught the light. The feet were cased in silk stockings, but no shoes. Pinned to the dress was an envelope.
But it was on the face and neck the gaze of the men was riveted. Once she had clearly been beautiful, but now the face was terribly black and swollen. The dark eyes were open and protruding, and held an expression of deadly horror and fear. The lips were drawn back showing the white, even teeth. And below, on the throat were two discoloured bruises, side by side, round marks close to the windpipe, thumb-prints of the animal who had squeezed out that life with relentless and merciless hands.
When the paper was removed from the dead face, the eyes of Felix seemed to start literally out of his head.
‘God!’ he shrieked in a thin, shrill tone. ‘It’s Annette!’ He stood for a moment, waved his hands convulsively, and then, slowly turning, pitched forward insensible on the floor.
The chief caught him before his head touched the ground.
‘Lend a hand here,’ he called.
Burnley and the sergeant sprang forward and, lifting the inanimate form, bore it into an adjoining room and laid it gently on the floor.
‘Doctor,’ said the Chief shortly, and the sergeant hurried off.
‘Bad business, this,’ resumed the Chief. ‘He didn’t know what was coming?’
‘I don’t think so, sir. My impression has been all through that he was being fooled by this Frenchman, whoever he is.’
‘It’s murder now, anyway. You’ll have to go to Paris, Burnley, and look into it.’
‘Yes, sir, very good.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s eight o’clock. I shall hardly be able to go to-night. I shall have to take the cask and the clothing, and get some photos and measurements of the corpse and hear the result of the medical examination.’
‘To-morrow will be time enough, but I’d go by the nine o’clock train. I’ll give you a personal note to Chauvet, the chief of the Paris police. You speak French, I think?’
‘Enough to get on, sir.’
‘You shouldn’t have
