right. Come along.’
Broughton left the post office and, now when it no longer mattered, found an empty taxi. Jumping in, he drove to Fenchurch Street and, passing up the staircase, knocked at his chief’s private door.
‘Well, Broughton,’ said Mr. Avery, ‘sit down there.’ Going to the door leading to the outer office he spoke to Wilcox.
‘I’ve just had a telephone call and I want to send some other messages. I’ll be engaged for half an hour.’ Then he closed the door and slipped the bolt.
‘You see I have done as you asked and I shall now hear your story. I trust you haven’t put me to all this inconvenience without a good cause.’
‘I think not, sir, and I thank you for the way you have met me. What happened was this,’ and Broughton related in detail his visit to the docks, the mishap to the casks, the discovery of the sovereigns and the woman’s hand, the coming of Mr. Felix and the interview in the quay office, ending up by placing the twenty-one sovereigns in a little pile on the chief’s desk.
When he ceased speaking there was silence for several minutes, while Mr. Avery thought over what he had heard. The tale was a strange one, but both from his knowledge of Broughton’s character as well as from the young man’s manner he implicitly believed every word he had heard. He considered the firm’s position in the matter. In one way it did not concern them if a sealed casket, delivered to them for conveyance, contained marble, gold, or road metal, so long as the freight was paid. Their contract was to carry what was handed over to them from one point to another and give it up in the condition they received it. If any one chose to send sovereigns under the guise of statuary, any objection that might be raised concerned the Customs Department, not them.
On the other hand, if evidence pointing to a serious crime came to the firm’s notice, it would be the duty of the firm to acquaint the police. The woman’s hand in the cask might or might not indicate a murder, but the suspicion was too strong to justify them in hiding the matter. He came to a decision.
‘Broughton,’ he said, ‘I think you have acted very wisely all through. We will go now to Scotland Yard, and you may repeat your tale to the authorities. After that I think we will be clear of it. Will you go out the way you came in, get a taxi, and wait for me in Fenchurch Street at the end of Mark Lane.’
Mr. Avery locked the private door after the young man, put on his coat and hat, and went into the outer office.
‘I am going out for a couple of hours, Wilcox,’ he said.
The head clerk approached with a letter in his hand.
‘Very good, sir. A gentleman named Mr. Felix called about 11.30 to see you. When I said you were engaged, he would not wait, but asked for a sheet of paper and an envelope to write you a note. This is it.’
The managing director took the note and turned back into his private office to read it. He was puzzled. He had said at 11.15 he would be engaged for half an hour. Therefore, Mr. Felix would only have had fifteen minutes to wait. As he opened the envelope he wondered why that gentleman could not have spared this moderate time, after coming all the way from the docks to see him. And then he was puzzled again, for the envelope was empty!
He stood in thought. Had something occurred to startle Mr. Felix when writing his note, so that in his agitation he omitted to enclose it? Or had he simply made a mistake? Or was there some deep-laid plot? Well, he would see what Scotland Yard thought.
He put the envelope away in his pocket-book and, going down to the street, joined Broughton in the taxi. They rattled along the crowded thoroughfares while Mr. Avery told the clerk about the envelope.
‘I say, sir,’ said the latter, ‘but that’s a strange business. When I saw him, Mr. Felix was not at all agitated. He seemed to me a very cool, clear-headed man.’
It happened that about a year previously the shipping company had been the victim of a series of cleverly planned robberies, and, in following up the matter, Mr. Avery had become rather well acquainted with two or three of the Yard Inspectors. One of these in particular he had found a shrewd and capable officer, as well as a kindly and pleasant man to work with. On arrival at the Yard he therefore asked for this man, and was pleased to find he was not engaged.
‘Good morning, Mr. Avery,’ said the Inspector, as they entered his office, ‘what good wind blows you our way to-day?’
‘Good morning, Inspector. This is Mr. Broughton, one of my clerks, and he has got a rather singular story that I think will interest you to hear.’
Inspector Burnley shook hands, closed the door, and drew up a couple of chairs.
‘Sit down, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I am always interested in a good story.’
‘Now, Broughton, repeat your adventures over again to Inspector Burnley.’
Broughton started off and, for the second time, told of his visit to the docks, the damage to the heavily built cask, the finding of the sovereigns and the woman’s hand, and the interview with Mr. Felix. The Inspector listened gravely and took a note or two, but did not speak till the clerk had finished, when he said:—
‘Let me congratulate you, Mr. Broughton, on your very clear statement.’
‘To which I might add a word,’ said Mr. Avery, and he told of the visit of Mr. Felix to the office and handed over the envelope he had left.
‘That envelope was written at 11.30,’ said the Inspector, ‘and it is now nearly 12.30. I am afraid this is a serious matter, Mr. Avery. Can you come to the docks at once?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Well, don’t let us lose any time.’ He threw a London directory down before Broughton. ‘Just look up this Felix, will you, while I make some arrangements.’
Broughton looked for West Jubb Street, but there was no such near Tottenham Court Road.
‘I thought as much,’ said Inspector Burnley, who had been telephoning. ‘Let us proceed.’
As they reached the courtyard a taxi drew up, containing two plain clothes men as well as the driver. Burnley threw open the door, they all got in, and the vehicle slid quickly out into the street.
Burnley turned to Broughton. ‘Describe the man Felix as minutely as you can.’
‘He was a man of about middle height, rather slightly and elegantly built. He was foreign-looking, French, I should say, or even Spanish, with dark eyes and complexion, and black hair. He wore a short, pointed beard. He was dressed in blue clothes of good quality, with a dark-green or brown Homburg hat, and black shoes with light spats. I did not observe his collar and tie specially, but he gave me the impression of being well-dressed in such matters of detail. He wore a ring with some kind of stone on the little finger of his left hand.’
The two plain clothes men had listened attentively to the description, and they and the Inspector conversed in low tones for a few moments, when silence fell on the party.
They stopped opposite the Bullfinch’s berth and Broughton led the way down.
‘There she is,’ he pointed, ‘if we go to that gangway we can get down direct to the forehold.’
The
