Three of the men got up slowly and came forward.
“We want to know, men,” said the managing director, “if you can tell us anything about Harkness and a damaged cask. He was to wait with it till we got down.”
“Well, he’s gone with it,” said one of the men, “lessn’ ’alf an hour ago.”
“Gone with it?”
“Yes. Some toff in blue clothes an’ a black beard came up an’ give ’im a paper, an’ when ’e’d read it ’e calls out an’ sez, sez ’e, ‘ ’Elp me swing out this ’ere cask,’ ’e says. We ’elps ’im, an’ ’e puts it on a ’orse dray—a four-wheeler. An’ then they all goes off, ’im an’ the cove in the blue togs walkin’ together after the dray.”
“Any name on the dray?” asked Mr. Avery.
“There was,” replied the spokesman, “but I’m blessed if I knows what it was. ’Ere Bill, you was talking about that there name. Where was it?”
Another man spoke.
“It was Tottenham Court Road, it was. But I didn’t know the street, and I thought that a strange thing, for I’ve lived off the Tottenham Court Road all my life.”
“Was it East John Street?” asked Inspector Burnley.
“Ay, it was something like that. East or West. West, I think. An’ it was something like John. Not John, but something like it.”
“What colour was the dray?”
“Blue, very fresh and clean.”
“Anyone notice the colour of the horse?”
But this was beyond them. The horse was out of their line. Its colour had not been observed.
“Well,” said Mr. Avery, as the Inspector signed that was all he wanted, “we are much obliged to you. Here’s something for you.”
Inspector Burnley beckoned to Broughton.
“You might describe this man Harkness.”
“He was a tall chap with a sandy moustache, very high cheekbones, and a big jaw. He was dressed in brown dungarees and a cloth cap.”
“You hear that,” said the Inspector, turning to the plain-clothes men. “They have half an hour’s start. Try to get on their track. Try north and east first, as it is unlikely they’d go west for fear of meeting us. Report to headquarters.”
The men hurried away.
“Now, a telephone,” continued the Inspector. “Perhaps you’d let me use your quay office one.”
They walked to the office, and Mr. Avery arranged for him to get the private instrument in the manager’s room. He rejoined the others in a few minutes.
“Well,” he said, “that’s all we can do in the meantime. A description of the men and cart will be wired round to all the stations immediately, and every constable in London will be on the lookout for them before very much longer.”
“Very good that,” said the managing director.
The Inspector looked surprised.
“Oh no,” he said, “that’s the merest routine. But now I’m here I would like to make some other inquiries. Perhaps you would tell your people that I’m acting with your approval, as it might make them give their information more willingly.”
Mr. Avery called over Huston, the manager.
“Huston, this is Inspector Burnley of Scotland Yard. He is making some inquiries about that cask you already heard of. I’ll be glad if you see that he is given every facility.” He turned to the Inspector. “I suppose there’s nothing further I can do to help you? I should be glad to get back to the City again, if possible.”
“Thank you, Mr. Avery, there’s nothing more. I’ll cruise round here a bit. I’ll let you know how things develop.”
“Right. Goodbye then, in the meantime.”
The Inspector, left to his own devices, called Broughton and, going on board the Bullfinch, had the clerk’s story repeated in great detail, the actual place where each incident happened being pointed out. He made a search for any object that might have been dropped, but without success, visited the wharf and other points from which the work at the cask might have been overlooked, and generally made himself thoroughly familiar with the circumstances. By the time this was done the other men who had been unloading the forehold had returned from dinner, and he interviewed them, questioning each individually. No additional information was received.
The Inspector then returned to the quay office.
“I want you,” he asked Mr. Huston, “to be so good as to show me all the papers you have referring to that cask, waybills, forward notes, everything.”
Mr. Huston disappeared, returning in a few seconds with some papers which he handed to Burnley. The latter examined them and then said:—
“These seem to show that the cask was handed over to the French State Railway at their Rue Cardinet Goods Station, near the Gare St. Lazare, in Paris, by MM. Dupierre et Cie., carriage being paid forward. They ran it by rail to Rouen, where it was loaded on to your Bullfinch.”
“That is so.”
“I suppose you cannot say whether the Paris collection was made by a railway vehicle?”
“No, but I should think not, as otherwise the cartage charges would probably show.”
“I think I am right in saying that these papers are complete and correct in every detail?”
“Oh yes, they are perfectly in order.”
“How do you account for the cask being passed through by the Customs officials without examination?”
“There was nothing suspicious about it. It bore the label of a well-known and reputable firm, and was invoiced as well as stencilled, ‘Statuary only.’ It was a receptacle obviously suitable for transporting such goods, and its weight was also in accordance. Unless in the event of some suspicious circumstance, cases of this kind are seldom opened.”
“Thank you, Mr. Huston, that is all I want at present. Now, can I see the captain of the Bullfinch?”
“Certainly. Come over and I’ll introduce you.”
Captain M’Nabb was a big, rawboned Ulsterman, with a hooked nose and sandy hair. He was engaged in writing up some notes in his cabin.
“Come in, sir, come in,” he said, as Huston made the Inspector known. “What can I do for you?”
Burnley explained his business. He had only a couple of questions to ask.
“How is the transshipment done from the railway to
